


A Million Pieces

by Candy_A



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-01-12
Updated: 1999-01-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 51,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candy_A/pseuds/Candy_A
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair is the only survivor of a violent attack on Jim's family, and both men must support each other through physical and emotional recovery, and the exploration of their relationship.<br/><b>Archivist note</b>: This story has been split into five parts for easier loading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Due to cybergremlins and crabby internet browsers, this has not been beta read. It's been proof-read by yours truly. :-)

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 5 parts.

## A Million Pieces

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Author's disclaimer: This is a work of fiction produced solely for the entertainment of fans. All characters having appeared in the UPN Series, "The Sentinel", belong to UPN and/or Pet Fly productions. The original characters belong to the author.

* * *

**A MILLION PIECES** \- part one 

by Candy Apple 

Blair Sandburg smiled down at the sleeping baby in his arms. Amanda Blair Ellison had put her bedraggled parents through the paces the last few nights, crying almost non-stop as most colicky babies do. Her mother was finally taking a much-deserved nap in the master bedroom, having been delighted to see Blair show up and offer to take over coddling his favorite baby while she caught a few minutes of sleep.

It was a good thing Jim had caved in and taken that desk job. At first, Blair had resented Lindsay's insistence that Jim try for the promotion that would take him off the streets. Jim loved what he did, and Blair had watched a lot of the old Ellison fire and enthusiasm dwindle as he spent his days in meetings, filling out forms and supervising other people doing what he wanted to be doing himself. But in a situation like this, Jim would have been no good on the streets. Amanda's crying kept him awake most nights, and if she didn't cry, Jim tended to stay awake with his hearing on full alert to figure out why she was quiet, to monitor her breathing, or just to listen to her heartbeat. No matter how bored he was at the job, or how tired he got, just mention his "Mandy", and he lit up like Christmas.

Blair was on the merry-go-round now. He laughed at the memory of telling Jim that leaving police work to go back to academia would be like getting off the roller coaster to ride the merry-go-round. He had essentially done just that, because Jim didn't need constant guiding to get from the copy machine to his desk, or from the coffee machine to his next meeting. The two men still saw each other nearly every day, either for a quick lunch or breakfast, depending on Jim's shift and Blair's schedule. Blair had a standing invitation for dinner, but only accepted it a couple times per week. He didn't want to be the bane of Lindsay's existence, intruding on her every private moment with Jim. Today, however, the exhausted mother had been thrilled to hand her wailing daughter over to Blair when he arrived near four o'clock. She'd have at least a couple of hours to catch a nap before Jim got home.

Amanda grimaced and wriggled in his arms, and Blair started singing to her again in a hushed voice. //She looks like a little tiny Jim// Blair thought fondly, seeing the beginnings of his best friend's strong features, coloring and penetrating blue eyes in his daughter. Amanda was only four months old, but she had a personality all her own. //An Ellison all the way.//

The snow was falling again outside the window, and since Amanda was still restless, Blair carefully stood up from the rocker where he'd been sitting and moved to the window of the one-floor contemporary house Jim shared with his wife and daughter. Situated on a large, partially wooded lot, the snow made the trees look like a frosted fairyland. As the baby let out her first whimpers, and the blue eyes opened, Blair held her where she could see the snow falling through the window of the room that was nearly dark. 

"Winter's coming, Mandy," he whispered, smiling. "Wanna know a secret?" He turned back from the window to look into those piercing blue eyes. He always had the uncanny feeling she somehow understood what he was saying. Even in her current fussy state, the two little eyes riveted on Blair as he spoke. "Your daddy's already Christmas shopping for you. Yes he is," Blair added, smiling at his little charge. 

There was a noise, somewhere in the house. For some reason, all of Blair's instincts screamed that it wasn't Jim coming home, and his heart rate picked up pace. At that precise moment, Amanda began crying again, letting out the full-bodied wails that blotted out any other sound in the environment. In the split second Blair had to think about it, he realized that she was almost as attuned to him as her father was. She began crying at the precise moment Blair had become afraid.

The next sound was unmistakable: a gunshot shattered the silence, followed rapidly by another. Trapped at the end of the hall with a crying baby, Blair panicked, the horrible realization sweeping over him in a wave that those shots were probably for Lindsay. He didn't care what they did with him at that moment, if he could only figure a way to protect Jim's little girl. If only she hadn't begun to cry...

Time seemed to move in slow motion. There were footsteps in the hall, taking what seemed like an eternity and yet only moments to become a dark form in the doorway...

* * *

Lieutenant Ellison packed the last of the papers in his briefcase and straightened up the disarray on his desk. Lindsay was making homemade pizza tonight, and Blair would be there for dinner. That was worth hurrying to be home by seven. Since he'd won the promotion to Lieutenant and transferred back to Vice, it seemed like his days were longer and longer. 

//No, it just feels that way, because you're working in one of the grittiest, most dangerous divisions and all you can do is stand back and watch.// Jim tried to swallow the little wave of resentment he felt about that, locking up his office and heading out the door. //Just like a goddamn executive, not a cop.// More bitterly than he missed street action, he missed having Blair bouncing along at his side all day. He was proud of Dr. Sandburg and the strong reputation he was building at Rainier, but it was a matter of time before one of the more prestigious universities snapped him up and he'd be gone permanently.

Jim hated the lump that always seemed to find its way to his throat when that thought crossed his mind. Their little moments over a fast-food breakfast or lunch were all Jim had left of his past life. That, and the loft. Blair had remained there, renting it from Jim, after Jim's marriage. Once he received his doctorate and Rainier took him on as faculty, he was able to afford a decent rent, covering the expenses of maintaining the loft.

Lindsay was a wonderful woman. She was kind, sensitive, and had finally accepted Blair's role in their lives. //Why shouldn't she? Whenever we get together, he takes over with Mandy. It's the only break Lindsay gets, being home all day with the baby.// 

Jim smiled as he rode down in the elevator, thinking about Blair with his daughter. The younger man adored Jim's little girl, and he was wonderful with children. His patience knew no limits, even with a baby as perpetually fussy as Mandy. Not that Jim didn't treasure every sound that came out of that beautiful little girl. It had taken him awhile to accept life as a sleep-starved zombie, but a couple other guys in the department who had survived colicky babies had assured him he would live, as long as he stayed off the streets.

//So what's my problem?// Jim asked himself as he tossed his briefcase in the truck and got in to start it. //I've got a beautiful blonde wife who still turns heads everywhere we go, an angelic daughter who has my heart wrapped around her tiny little finger--even if she does scream her head off all night, a good friend who's always there for me, a successful career...// 

Driving through the November snow, Jim looked forward to the evening. He couldn't wait to talk to Blair about all the details of the bust that had gone wrong that day. Thankfully, none of the cops involved had been killed, but one was hospitalized, still in serious condition. Blair could put it all in perspective again. He'd sit there, holding Mandy, and listen intently--no, _hang_ , on Jim's every word, and then he'd say something that would make it all right. Just like always. 

//Blair again.// Jim smiled a little. //It always comes back to Blair.// No matter how far he ran, or how many women he bedded, or even when he finally married one. It all came back to Blair, and the feelings that were between them. Feelings that went in all the wrong directions. Feelings that had propelled Jim to actively seek out an appropriate marriage partner and take his life in this different direction. He wasn't gay and neither was Sandburg. That being the case, he was just too damned dependent on the quirky little anthropologist who could be a thorn in his side and the light of his life at the same time. So when he'd met Lindsay Stanton, the daughter of a protected witness in a major investigation of a local crime boss, he pursued her. She took the bait, and after a six month courtship, they married.

Blair had been best man at his wedding, a fact that hadn't set well with Stephen. Still, Jim couldn't picture anyone else standing up for him but his right hand...his other half. //Getting married solved a lot for you, didn't it Ellison? _Lindsay_ is your other half, dammit. Not Sandburg.//

Jim noticed with some annoyance that the streetlight near their house was out again. The Ellison house was situated on a large, semi-wooded lot at the end of a cul-de-sac, and it was important to Jim that their home have the light in working order to keep the house from being a B &E target because of its slight seclusion in the middle of suburbia.

Blair's car was in the driveway, pulled into the drive-off at the side. Jim immediately knew something wasn't right. There was only one dim light in the living room. It was seven o'clock sharp. Lindsay would have dinner in the oven, and Blair would usually be in the living room by now, holding Amanda while her mother prepared the meal.

Jim got out of the truck and drew his gun. He tuned his hearing to the house, but picked up no sounds of the baby crying...and no heartbeats. That relieved him a little, actually. Maybe they had all gone out for some reason, using Lindsay's car. 

He unlocked the side door into the garage. Lindsay's Honda Accord was still parked there. Now, with some effort, Jim could pick up on one sound...familiar, but...wrong somehow. It was Blair's heartbeat, but very slow and very labored.

Losing no more time on evaluating the situation, not even knowing how to process the fear he felt for his wife and daughter, let alone his best friend, he made his way stealthily into the house. One thing was sure: no one healthy and mobile was inside. He flipped on the hall light and hurried to the master bedroom, calling to Lindsay. When he stopped in the doorway, the shock of what he saw made his legs feel too weak to move.

Lindsay was lying on the bedspread, dressed in her jeans and her favorite blue sweater...and there was a horrible mass of blood that fanned out under her head and matted one side of her blonde hair. It spattered the wall behind the headboard in a horribly explosive pattern. Her heart was not beating.

"Blair!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. It was the only heartbeat he could hear, and if he ever needed his guide, it was at this moment. He couldn't make his legs move, couldn't take his eyes off the horror in front of him. There was no response from Blair. 

He tore his stunned eyes away from Lindsay's lifeless form and dragged himself down the hall to the nursery, hearing the heartbeat grow louder. He refused to think of the possibility that Blair hadn't somehow protected Mandy. That his little girl wouldn't be safe in her crib. That her heartbeat was just being drowned out somehow by Blair's in his confused mind. 

The first thing Jim saw was Blair's still form, face down on the pale pink carpeting, a spreading red patch under the upper portion of his torso. One bloody hand gripped the cell phone that Blair had somehow managed to pull out of the backpack on the floor by the white wicker rocker. 

Dazed, Jim pulled the phone out of Blair's weakened grip and called for back-up and an ambulance. He was functioning purely on autopilot in that moment, the shock so great that his emotions couldn't begin to deal with it.

And then he saw the small bundle on the floor a few feet behind where Blair lay. Before he could think to check Blair's pulse or the seriousness of his injuries, all his senses focused on that little bundle, and the blood that stained the small, soft white blanket wrapped around the pink sleepers. Dropping to his knees next to his wounded friend, staring at the lifeless form of his daughter, Jim didn't understand where the horrible, agonized screams he heard were coming from. He didn't realize they were being torn from the pit of his own soul as he collapsed next to Blair, incoherently grabbing at the only warm, living thing in the cold, dark house.

* * *

Simon paced the hospital corridor anxiously. Sandburg had been in surgery for hours, having suffered multiple bullet wounds in his left shoulder, chest and abdomen. The bullet that had pierced his chest had ironically been slowed by the body of the baby girl he had been holding, trying so hard to protect. As it was, it had collapsed his lung and barely missed his heart. The doctor had hastily explained something about autotransfusion, or somehow adding coagulant to the blood gushing out of Blair's chest as it was caught in collection bottles and giving it back to him. Whatever it was all about, he knew Blair was not in good shape, and doctor wasn't holding out much hope.

Lindsay Ellison was dead at the scene, two bullet wounds to the head having taken her life instantly. She had most likely been sleeping, and probably didn't even know what happened.

Amanda Ellison was also dead at the scene, a single bullet having passed through her tiny body on its way to entering Blair's chest.

The forensics team had determined that the shooter had caught Blair holding the baby, and had shot him in the shoulder as he tried to turn away to shield her. Having weakened and unbalanced him with this first non-critical shot, the shooter played for keeps, aiming for both the baby and Sandburg, drilling two bullets into them.

Blair had obviously had a few conscious moments at some point, as he had laid the baby aside and dragged himself to his backpack and pulled the cell phone out before losing consciousness again. 

That's where they had found Jim, silent, catatonic, holding onto Blair's bloody hand, slumped on the floor next to his friend. Simon assessed that the reality of Amanda's death had been the final straw that shocked him into the state he had not yet escaped. While Blair hovered between life and death, Jim was in a hospital bed down the hall, staring blankly at the wall. The hospital's staff psychiatrist was with him at the moment, so all Simon could do was pace.

Various cops from the precinct arrived and joined the vigil in the waiting room. Blair had become a fixture around the PD, even if he wasn't there as often as he used to be. Jim was well-liked and respected by most of his colleagues, so many came to show their support, even if he couldn't receive visitors at the moment.

"Captain Banks?" The doctor, a short man in his late fifties with receding hair and a pleasant expression, approached the area where Simon was wearing a path in the floor tile.

"How's Sandburg?"

"He survived surgery. We were able to re-inflate his lung, once we stopped the bleeding and repaired the damage. The abdominal wound, fortunately, missed the vital organs and only caused some tissue damage. His shoulder is going to be out of commission for a while, and he'll probably need considerable physical therapy to get full motion back, but I think in time, the muscle and tendon damage can be overcome."

"What's the prognosis?"

"I would say his chance for survival is slightly above 50-50. He's lost a lot of blood, and we lost him once in the emergency room. He isn't out of the woods yet. He's not breathing on his own--we have him on a ventilator, but he's strong, healthy...at this point, I'm optimistic."

"That's great news, doctor." Simon exhaled and smiled for the first time that night. "How long before he can have visitors?"

"He'll be in recovery for a few hours, and then moved to ICU. Then--"

"I know the drill. One visitor, five minutes every hour?"

"We could probably stretch it to ten for family, but essentially, yes," the doctor responded, smiling. 

"Thanks, Doc." Simon watched the man retreat back down the hall, and went to share the news with his men in the waiting room.

* * *

Jim had listened to the woman in the white lab coat babble incessantly at him, talking about trauma and repression and the importance of him responding. //Fine, I'll fucking respond.//

"I want to see Blair," he said simply, startling her out of her monologue. 

"Mr. Ellison, do you know where you are?" she asked, smiling slightly, obviously pleased with herself for convincing him to speak.

"I'm in the hospital. My family is...my wife is dead...my daugh-daughter is d-dead," he forced past the constriction of his throat. This woman needed a recitation of reality from him before she'd help him find Blair. "I-I have to see Sandburg. Now." Jim felt he was at a crossroads, on the edge of insanity at the non-stop barrage of bloody images that filled his memory. There was one light, one way out, one _guide_ to lead him through this. He needed Blair.

"I'll check on Mr. Sandburg's condition."

"I _have_ to see him," Jim blurted, hating the agitation in his voice. //Calm down, Ellison. Get hysterical and you'll be sedated. And add drugs to what you're feeling now, and the fun'll really begin.//

"Please try to relax." She laid a gentle hand on his arm as she rose from the chair next to his hospital bed. 

"I'm not staying here," he stated firmly, taking command of the situation. //You've still got a shred or two of your sanity, Ellison. Hold onto it, go with it. Blair was hurt. He probably needs you as much as you need him. Just like always...//

"You've suffered a very bad shock--"

"Yes, I have. And I'm still suffering it, but I'm not injured and I'm not crazy, at least not yet. Now please tell me where my clothing is."

"I can't agree--"

"Look, I'll sign anything you want. Just go find out how Sandburg is and tell me where they put my clothes."

"Very well. Your clothes are in the bureau drawer," she nodded toward some built in drawers across the room. "I'll bring in the release forms, and inquire about Mr. Sandburg's condition."

"Thank you."

"Jim?" Simon passed the psychiatrist as she was leaving the room, and was more than a little relieved to see Jim pulling his clothes hastily out of the drawer and tossing them on the bed.

"How's Blair?" Jim blurted, not even bothering to acknowledge Simon.

"He survived surgery, but he's still on a ventilator. The doctor sounded pretty hopeful that he'll make it." Simon tried to smile, but Jim just searched his face a moment, and the captain knew the sentinel was giving him an on-the-spot lie detector test. Obviously satisfied Simon was being straight with him, Jim nodded.

"Good," he said tightly, dispensing with the hospital gown and pulling on his pants. "Where is he?"

"He's in recovery, Jim. It'll be a few hours before you can see him."

"Yeah, okay." Jim hastily pulled on his t-shirt and sweater, then sat on the bed to put on his shoes and socks. "What did forensics say?"

"Jim, you've just been through a--"

"God dammit, Simon, don't tell me what I've been through!!" Jim leapt to his feet and turned to face Simon. "Everybody keeps telling me what I've been through! Don't they think I know?! They're dead! Lindsay's head was half blown off!! Don't they think I saw that? Who in the fucking hell do they think found her?!" he shouted at Simon, hating the tears that were burning his eyes, and the constriction of his throat. "They killed my little girl, Simon." It was a breathless statement, choked by the threat of tears and the sudden impact of grief on a mind that was beginning to function again. Yet, in a manner typical of the stoic cop, Jim swallowed his emotions again. Running a hand over his face, he moved to stare out the window into the darkness of the night, his back to Simon.

Simon was at a loss for any words of comfort to offer Jim, and for a moment, felt as desperate as Jim himself to have Blair there, and conscious. Blair would say something now, something soothing or wise or well-thought-out. Even with a hole in his chest and tubes up his nose--if Sandburg were conscious, he'd do something for Jim. Anything. He'd know how to put the shattered wreck before him back together.

"We're all here for you, man. You've got a lot of friends to pull you though this, buddy. But you've got to hang in there. For Sandburg. He's alive, but he's got a long recovery ahead of him. He needs you." Bolstering Jim with the thought of taking care of Blair was the only strategy that presented itself in Simon's mind. 

"Tell me what happened, Simon. I need to know." Jim sat on the foot of the bed, and Simon pulled the chair up so he was sitting across from Jim.

"It looks as though one shooter entered through the patio door off the deck. It was unlocked, and there's no sign of forced entry."

"That goddamned rabbit."

"What?" Simon looked at Jim, puzzled.

"Lindsay puts--Lindsay _put_ food out for a jack rabbit that used to come up on the deck. Half the time, she forgot to lock the door afterwards. We were always bickering about that..." Jim's thoughts trailed off to Lindsay's wavy blonde hair, and the way she used to push it back into place after the wind had toyed with it while she placed the little bits of food outside for the rabbit... 

"Lindsay was shot first, Jim. Given the layout of the house, there was nowhere for Sandburg to go with Amanda."

"And she was probably crying. She cries most of the night...does anybody really know why nobody can cure colic for babies? Seems like they should have figured that out by now, I mean they figured out everything else--"

"Jim?" Simon interrupted.

"Yeah, right. Go ahead." Jim pulled his other shoe on and tied it while Simon continued. 

//Concentrate on routine, Ellison. Put on the shoes, tie them. Crazy men can't concentrate on anything. Keep a hold of your mind.//

"The shooter probably moved fast, and found Blair in the nursery with Amanda. He was still holding her when he was shot. Judging by the angle of the wound in his shoulder, he most likely tried to turn away and shield her, and was shot."

"How did the shooter...how did...how did he kill Mandy?" Jim forced out.

"The bullet that hit Sandburg in the chest is the one that killed Amanda. The kid was probably operating on instinct, holding her, trying to use himself as a shield. And when he was shot in the shoulder, he probably couldn't even manage that as well. It just didn't work," Simon concluded quietly.

"They didn't stand a chance." Jim stared straight ahead a moment, worrying Simon that he had slipped back into his catatonic state. As soon as the doctor came back in with the release forms, he snapped back to reality and scrawled his signature on the papers, listened as politely as he could manage to her objections to his release, and then dismissed her with a curt "Thank you."

"Jim, let's go downstairs to the cafeteria. It's getting late, and you should have something to eat--"

"Oh, God, no, Simon. I wouldn't hold it right now," Jim replied, making a face and covering his stomach briefly with his hand.

"Coffee, at least?"

"Okay, yeah, some coffee." Jim walked with Simon down the hall and then rode down in the elevator in silence, letting the captain fill in the void with various reassuring phrases about Blair's survival and his general good health and his fighting spirit. He held onto the voice like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him dangling over the abyss of blood-spattered nightmares swirling through his mind.

* * *

As Blair surfaced from the darkness, he felt a steady pressure on his hand. For some reason, the warm pressure was foremost in his mind, even over the pain that was assailing him from all sides. His mind went immediately to the baby he'd been holding, and the terror washed over him again.

"Hey, it's okay, Chief. I'm right here," a soft voice cut through the nightmare image that was flashing into Blair's foggy brain. He felt a warm hand on his cheek, a thumb brushing at wetness that must have been coming from his eyes.

"Mandy..." was all he could manage. "I couldn't...I...tried..."

"I know, Blair. It's not your fault, Chief. Try to relax. You don't have to talk." Jim squeezed Blair's hand carefully.

"Lin...Lindsay?" Blair managed in a quiet, strained voice. He had only recently been taken off the ventilator, and was breathing on his own.

"She's gone, Chief," Jim responded softly.

"How long...what is today?" Blair asked, still a bit groggy.

"It happened last night. It's four in the afternoon on Thursday."

"I have...to be...with you...the funeral..."

"You have to get better, buddy. That's your job right now." Jim looked at the pale face framed by the fan of soft curls on the pillow. "God, Blair, you're all I've got left. You've got to get better. I can't...I can't make it without you," Jim concluded, his voice breaking painfully on the last word as he dropped his head to the mattress at Blair's side, feeling the grief tearing through him again, and this time, not fighting it. He felt a gentle hand in his hair, stroking his head slowly.

"Just let it out, Jim. I'm not going to leave you," Blair stated, forcing a strength into his voice that his damaged body didn't really feel. "Everything'll be...okay," Blair managed, feeling exhausted even from this brief conversation. "Mandy's...always been...a little angel. Now, she...she's with God...and your mom...finally gets to...meet her... namesake," Blair continued in as soothing a tone as he could muster. Little Amanda Blair had been named for Jim's deceased mother and Blair himself. "Lindsay...was sleeping, Jim. She...probably...didn't feel a thing."

Jim continued to sob into the side of the bed, and Blair finally fell silent, just stroking his hair, then resting his hand on the back of Jim's neck when the motion became to tiring.

"You...you come back and live...with me," Blair continued. "You're not ever...gonna be alone, okay?"

"You should rest," Jim choked out, making the first attempts to pull himself together.

"You too. Where're you...sleeping?"

"The waiting room," Jim answered honestly, finally straightening up and pulling out a handkerchief to mop off his face.

"No...go home with...Simon. Go to bed. Sleep."

"Blair, I...I can't do that. I can't...I can't close my eyes without seeing her...Lindsay...there on our bed. Oh, God, Chief, she deserved so much better than what I ever gave her," Jim said sadly, shaking his head. He knew that his heart had never fully belonged to the beautiful woman who had lived with him as his wife and had borne his child. "And...and Mandy...how could anybody...kill a baby? I don't...I know I should know because I'm a cop...but how does anybody do that?"

"Some people are truly evil. They're sociopaths in the textbooks, but I think it's something more. It's a void where their souls should be." Blair swallowed and worked at maintaining his strength to talk. Jim needed him, badly. The devastated man by his bedside was frighteningly dependent on him emotionally, and Blair knew only too well the feeling that only Jim could make what was wrong, better. "You were good to Lindsay and Mandy. They...loved you."

"I don't want to leave here, Chief. I can sleep on the couch in the waiting room. I just can't...go in and turn out the lights and get into bed and not...see her...and Mandy on that floor."

"I know. I see...the guy in the room...every time I close my eyes."

"Did you see him?" Jim's head snapped up, but Blair shook his head slowly.

"It got dark while I was rocking Mandy, and I...she was asleep a while, and I didn't want the light...to wake her," Blair continued, a tear sliding out of his eye again. "I was showing her the snow out the window, and I heard something, and she started crying, and then I heard the shots. I didn't know where to go, Jim. I couldn't get out of the house without running into whoever it was." Blair was out of breath and crying himself now, faster than Jim could catch the tears. "I wish he'd just killed me instead, left Mandy alone..."

"Shhh," Jim soothed his agitated friend, drying his tears. "You did the best you could, buddy. It was a no-win situation. I'm just so damned glad that you survived."

"Detective Ellison?" The nurse's soft voice startled Jim as he tended to Blair's tears. "He needs to get some rest now. You can come back in next hour," she added, smiling slightly. The nursing staff were aware of the tragedy surrounding Blair's injuries, and they had been very sensitive in their treatment of both the patient and the grief-ravaged man who spent every possible moment at his side.

"I'll be back soon, Chief. Get some rest. If you're asleep next time, I'll just sit with you a while." He stroked Blair's forehead, and then leaned forward and planted a little kiss there. 

"Jim--" Blair caught the larger man's hand with surprising firmness. "We'll...be okay, somehow. We'll...tackle it together, huh?"

"Like always, partner." Jim squeezed his hand, and Blair saw the first trace of what could have been interpreted as a smile as Jim gently laid the tired hand back on the bed, then patted it and walked away slowly.

* * *

Jim had always prided himself on being able to function surprisingly well under pressure. He did so now, keeping his composure and trying to provide support for Lindsay's grief-stricken mother as arrangements were made and family notified. The witness who had brought Jim and Lindsay together in the first place, Lindsay's father, had died of a heart attack six months earlier, just a couple months before the birth of his granddaughter. He pitied his mother-in-law, who had lost her husband, daughter and granddaughter within the span of six months' time, yet he had the uncanny feeling she held him accountable for all her losses.

The double funeral for Lindsay and Amanda Ellison were well-attended to say the least. The 35-year-old Lindsay had held a top position in a local graphic design firm before quitting to have and care for her daughter. She was popular with her co-workers, as well as a considerable circle of friends. The pretty blonde with the quiet but pleasant personality had made her mark in her short life, leaving behind a number of close friends and grieving family members.

Jim listened numbly as the minister eulogized his late wife. His thoughts were back to the time when he first met Lindsay, and again, he was trying to overcome the feelings of guilt he had. Just before he met her, Jim had acknowledged to himself that his feelings for Blair had changed direction. It was a direction he wasn't prepared to follow, and given Blair's track record with women, it certainly wasn't one he'd care to pursue either. Jim had decided he needed to "get a life." Then along came Lindsay.

He couldn't remember meeting a girl before who had blonde hair and brown eyes. But you could lose yourself in the warm depths of those dark amber eyes of Lindsay's. She was creative, sensitive, and her quiet personality meshed well with Jim's. An independent thinker who liked time to herself and the chance to paint undisturbed when she was working on one of the many canvasses that ended up decorating their home, she was the ideal mate for a cop with an erratic schedule. All she'd asked of Jim was that he pursue a promotion that would take him out of the line of fire. Lindsay had said she didn't want to be a widow raising an orphan.

So Jim changed jobs. Jim bought a house. Jim ate Sunday dinner with his in-laws. Jim mowed the lawn and helped the neighbor put up his fence and joined the neighborhood watch, because Lindsay wanted to be involved in their community. In short, Jim tried to fashion himself into the perfect husband. And now that his wife was dead, he felt immense guilt at the irritation and displeasure each of those activities had brought with them. He hated his new job, he bought a house Lindsay loved that he personally didn't care for, and dinner at the in-laws only bored him slightly less than talking to the neighbors about how many kids were toilet-papering trees and had to be stopped. All in all, Jim Ellison had loved Lindsay and Amanda, but truly loathed every minute of his married life. 

Lindsay seemed to know she didn't have first place in Jim's heart, which would result in the little outbursts she would occasionally have in which she suggested that perhaps Jim should have married Blair instead of her. It had been on the tip of his tongue to retort that if they had been living in Hawaii, he probably would have, but he'd held it back each time. And each time the wall between himself and his wife grew a little stronger. The wall named Blair Sandburg.

Blair was innocent in all of it. He tried to keep his nose out of Jim's married life. After he'd overheard Lindsay make a sharp remark to Jim one time when he dropped in shortly after Amanda was born, it had taken Jim weeks to talk Blair into ever coming over again. The younger man hadn't gone away angry, but he had gone away determined not to screw up his friend's marriage.

But the more Lindsay railed against Blair's importance to her husband, the farther apart the couple grew, until she seemed to realize this pattern, and did an about-face. Furthermore, she had come to appreciate having someone who loved Amanda like his own to call on when she needed someone to watch the baby. Blair had volunteered to babysit any time he possibly could, and when Lindsay gave in and accepted his help on a few occasions, she began to like Blair and consider him a friend in her own right. Ironically, in the weeks just before the murders, Lindsay and Blair had finally made their peace with their roles in Jim's life, and were becoming good friends.

Mandy had been a joy from the first moment she was born. She was a fussy baby from the start, but she was Jim's little angel no matter how many times he had to drag himself out of bed to respond to her nearly incessant crying at night. He often got up to take care of the baby since Lindsay occasionally slept through the start of the crying. Jim was awake most of the time whether Amanda was crying or just sleeping. He monitored that child like a human nursery monitor, only tolerating the presence of that device to soothe Lindsay's mind. He heard every sigh, intake of breath, burp and gurgle with his own sentinel hearing.

//It was as if I thought something was going to happen right from the start// Jim thought to himself.

Jerking himself back to the present, Jim noticed that even Simon was sliding a handkerchief under his glasses. //The minister must be doing his job,// Jim concluded, feeling that he had cheated Lindsay once again by letting his attention drift during her eulogy.

The segment of the sermon about Amanda was a lot of talk of the innocence of children and angels and eternal paradise. Jim swallowed hard on not only his grief, but the inclination to stand up and shout: "She was shot in her own nursery! This isn't a fucking fairy tale! It's a homicide!" But he refrained from any outbursts, turning eyes that filled easily with tears to the little white casket at the front of the church.

Soon, he could go back to Blair, and soak up some of the solace that would heal him. Blair was still very weak, and Jim knew the emotional strain wasn't good for his friend. Still, there was nothing that soothed Jim now but the sound of that familiar, soft voice, or the gentle touch of Blair's hand, and the feeling of being loved and cared for, even if the caregiver was flat on his back and weak as a kitten. 

* * *

"What time is it?" Blair asked the nurse as she came in to check his IV.

"It's about three o'clock. Would you like to watch some TV?" she offered. Blair was getting adjusted to his new private room, no longer in the ICU unit. He hadn't told Jim he was being moved, because he wanted to surprise his friend with one upbeat event in the middle of all this misery.

"No, thanks." He forced a little smile. "The funeral was today."

"Must be hard to not go in person, huh?" she asked gently, adjusting his pillows a bit. Sally had been Blair's nurse during a previous hospital stay, and it was good to see a familiar face. She had been more than sympathetic when he'd told her how he ended up there.

"I just...I wanna get out of here so I can be there for Jim, you know? Laid up like this, I'm not good for much."

"If the number of hours he spends here are any indicator, you must be good for something, even laid up. Why don't you relax and take a nap? I've poked you for the last time for a while." She smiled knowingly and pulled the drapes to obscure the sunlight that was pouring into the room. "The move this morning must have tired you out."

"Oh, yeah. Being wheeled down the hall was _real_ strenuous."

"Don't knock the service. Word is you're going to be up and on your feet tomorrow."

"At least it's progress." Blair sighed, thinking of what an effort pulling his battered body up on its feet would actually be.

"So enjoy the star treatment while you're still getting it. Ring if you need anything," she concluded, heading out the door.

"Thanks, Sally." 

Blair closed his eyes, much better able to sleep peacefully without the help of sedatives when it was still daylight. When the darkness of night came, it was only the heavy sedation and Jim's constant presence that allowed him to slip off into sleep. Visions of the dimly lit hall in the Ellison house, the dark silhouette in the door of Mandy's nursery, the realization that the worst thing he feared happening was really going to happen...

His eyes snapped open again to the shadowy hospital room. Maybe he was beyond the point of being gravely ill enough to drop into a dead sleep unassisted at any time. 

He recalled coming to, lying on his back on the floor of the nursery, and seeing the mobile over the crib moving lazily. Not knowing if the man who'd shot him was still in the house, Blair had utilized his last moments of consciousness to think about getting help. He couldn't remember acknowledging then that Mandy was dead. She was hurt, he knew that, so he'd carefully rolled to his good side and released her a little less gracefully than he wanted to onto the soft carpeting. //It's _my_ blood on her blanket// Blair remembered telling himself. //She's asleep, because I've been unconscious a long time and she's done crying...//

Then he'd made a determination that the pain was not going to stop him from getting to his cell phone. Lindsay had to be at least gravely injured from the two shots he'd heard before. Someone had to get help. So he'd made the excruciating and agonizingly slow crawl to his back pack, and the last thing he remembered was getting a hold of the phone.

//Mandy was already dead in my arms.//

The thought tore through Blair's heart like a razor. In the horror of Jim's grief, and the first stages of his own struggle to cling to life, let alone recover, Blair hadn't given any real vent to his own feelings of loss about Jim's family. Lindsay was a good person, and he was starting to get to know her, and to appreciate her creativity, her kindness, her humor...and she had somehow decided that if she couldn't beat Blair, she might as well join him, and they were becoming friends. Friends who had Jim in common, and beautiful, perfect little Amanda in common.

But Mandy had been pure, undistilled joy from the moment of her birth. Blair had been moved beyond words that she had his name as her middle name, and he treasured her as a precious little piece of Jim. Somehow, with Jim as her father and Blair sharing her middle name, he felt the three of them were all linked somehow...it was like the best version of an old fantasy that had died when Jim came home that night and announced he had asked Lindsay to marry him. Up until then, Blair had entertained thoughts of the two of them someday discovering each other...or rather, Jim discovering him. He had discovered Jim shortly after they met, and he knew how he felt about his male roommate. But Jim was hopelessly straight, and when he'd finally become engaged to Lindsay, Blair had felt his heart would break. He knew it would end that way eventually, but he hadn't wanted it to happen so soon.

When he'd sit in the nursery and rock Mandy, or sing to her, he could fantasize silly, impossible things. That somehow she was his and Jim's. She was a miracle that could never happen. 

Even in her own right, without any embellishments of romantic fantasy, Blair deeply loved that little girl. He'd have happily died to protect her, and in the end, he'd failed miserably when called upon to do that.

Lying alone in the dim hospital room, Blair finally let go of the grief he didn't want to add to Jim's. Wrenching sobs jarred his pained body as he finally let out the anguish he felt over the loss of Jim's family and the trauma of his own ordeal.

* * *

Having dispensed with his suitcoat and tie in the truck, Jim slipped into his topcoat and headed into the hospital to see Blair. The funeral dinner had been a long, drawn out, draining experience. Lindsay's family were all in town, and blessedly, staying with her mother and not him. Of course, the nature of what happened prevented him from hosting too many house guests. He hadn't been back to the house himself, and it was still sealed as a crime scene. 

Blair hadn't been much help to the investigation. What little light had been in the hall was behind the shooter, and Blair had done his utmost to turn away to shield Amanda. He hadn't seen the perp's face at all. He did say the silhouette was fairly large, about Simon's height and build. Blair recalled him being left-handed, after Jim spent considerable time calmly walking him through his first glimpse of the man in the hall he knew was going to shoot him and Amanda. Blair had some serious gaps in his memory, which Jim had to sadly accept and work with what they _did_ have.

There was no need for Jim to crusade to make the murder of his family top priority. Community outrage at the brutal slaying of a family in a relatively "safe" suburban neighborhood at dinner time had been sufficient to make the mayor snap at Simon's heels. That was also unnecessary as the entire Major Crimes Unit was lining up to help with the case, both on-duty and on their own time.

Needless to say, Jim would not be a direct member of the investigation. He was personally involved in the most intimate way. Simon had overridden his objections by reminding him that they had one living witness that not only needed protection but also needed care. Blair would not be able to be left on his own once he was released from the hospital, and the logical person to take care of him was Jim.

Simon's orders that Jim "look after Sandburg" were unnecessary, but Simon had turned it into an order to make Jim feel as if he were acting in some official capacity in the investigation.

As he rode the elevator to the ICU, Jim leaned against the wall and tried to pull the pieces of his mind together sufficiently to even form a theory about why anyone would want to kill his family. In his line of work, there were countless seedy characters who could come back for revenge, and that was phase one of the investigation: sorting his old arrests and run-ins to find any tall, well-built, left-handed men.

He made his way wearily down the corridor to Blair's room, and froze in the doorway when he encountered only a freshly made bed. Backing out of the room with shaky steps, he fell into a chair in the hallway and just sat there, staring into space. //Oh, God, no, don't do this to me!! He's all I have left. God forgive me, he's always been the one that mattered the most... You've got everything else I had...why him too?//

"Jim?" A woman's voice startled him. He realized as he brushed at his eyes that the agony he'd felt had manifested itself as tears already.

"When?" was all he could manage.

"Blair was moved to a private room on the fourth floor about three hours ago," Sally responded. "I came up to make sure the nurse at the desk sent you downstairs. He wanted to surprise you."

"Oh, God." Jim's head dropped back against the wall with a dull thud. "Thank God," he murmured.

"You thought he was-- Oh, Jim, I'm sorry. He thought it would be a nice surprise for you that he was off the critical list and out of ICU."

"It is," Jim responded, finally finding a slight smile for the distressed young woman standing in front of him. Sally had been a wonderful bright spot during Blair's hospital stay a year earlier following a car accident he'd been in with Jim during a high speed chase. Fortunately, Blair's injuries had been more annoying that life-threatening, and the friendly brunette had kept his spirits up during his stay.

"Come on, I'll show you were he is," she offered, sensing that Jim was about at the end of his rope after the funeral and the shock of thinking he'd lost Blair too.

Jim eased the door open and looked in on Blair as Sally left him to his visit. Slipping inside the room and moving stealthily toward the bed, Jim didn't want to wake his sleeping friend. He noticed the moisture of drying tears on Blair's face as he drew closer, realizing that his sentinel sight hadn't picked up on it until he was close enough that anyone could have seen it. That didn't surprise him, given his present state of exhaustion and emotional turmoil.

Blair had gone through a pretty good cry from the looks of his pillow case and the wetness on his face. //Poor little guy,// Jim thought protectively, sitting in a chair close to the bed. //Spent four days on the critical list, and as soon as he opened his eyes the first time, he had to pull me back together. Gather up a million pieces and try to put them back into a reasonable facsimile of Jim Ellison.//

The unnerving thing was, even barely able to speak, Blair had done just that. His soft words and the gentle hand caressing Jim's hair as he let out his pain and his grief more than once on Blair's bedside had pulled him back from the edge of insanity. He lived for the time he spent with Blair, and as he always had, Blair turned all his attentions to Jim's well-being.

Jim eyed the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room and hoped he could use his status as a cop, claiming to be "protecting" Blair, to sleep there until his friend was released.

"Jim?" Blair's sleepy voice jarred him back to reality.

"Hey, there, Chief. How're you doin'?"

"I got upgraded," Blair responded, still groggy.

"Man, that's the best news I've had all day." Jim pulled his chair closer and took Blair's hand. "You've got a little more color today. You're looking healthier by the minute, buddy."

"Wish I could've been with you today." Blair returned the light pressure on his hand. "Damn it, they should've buried me today, not Mandy," Blair blurted out as fresh tears came. "I'm so sorry, man. I fucked everything up. I tried so hard not to let you down...to take care of her, but I couldn't do it!" Blair lost what little control he'd had and cried openly as he held onto Jim's hand. 

"You listen to me, Chief." Jim lowered the side rail on the bed and sat on the edge of it, next to Blair's uninjured side. He laced their fingers together and pulled Blair's hand and forearm into the embrace he wanted to give Blair himself, had his injuries permitted. "There was no one in that house that night that was dispensable to me. I loved Lindsay and Amanda, and I love you. Losing my wife is one kind of pain, and losing Mandy...God, there just aren't words...but, Blair, losing you would have been a different pain, not a lesser one. You were stuck in a no-win situation, buddy. I know the layout of that house. You didn't have any choices, or anywhere to go, and with a crying baby, you couldn't even _try_ hiding. The son of a bitch was going to shoot both of you no matter what you did. _You_ didn't fail, do you hear me?"

"She was...your...daugh-daughter...and Lindsay...t-trusted me...with her...and I...I let her...die!" Blair choked out, still sobbing as he clutched Jim's hand.

"Dammit, Blair, you didn't _let_ anything happen! Maybe you think then I should blame Lindsay because she forgot to lock the patio door again, or I could blame Mandy because she cried, and I could blame you because you had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The only bastard to blame for this is the one who did the shooting. Oh, come on, Chief, listen to what I'm trying to tell you here," Jim pleaded with his inconsolable friend, who still hadn't quieted despite his reassurances. He reached up and stroked the side of Blair's head, threading his fingers through the soft hair there. "You know how much I loved Mandy. If I can look at this situation and tell you that you're not to blame, why can't you believe me?"

"She...was...just a...baby. I should've...done something!"

"Like what? You held her, you tried to use your body as a shield. What more could you do?" Jim was crying himself now, not certain if it was talking about the circumstances of Amanda's death or Blair's heart-wrenching grief and feelings of guilt that were causing it. Or maybe it was just fatigue. 

"I loved her, Jim," Blair managed, trying to stop the flow of tears that seemed to know no end. "I don't have...any right...to lay this...on you...but...I loved her...too," Blair concluded before tears took over again and stole his voice.

"I know, Chief. I know you did. You have a right to your grief. And you have a right to your nightmares and your fear and your pain. You were that bastard's victim too." 

"I'm...sorry...I'm the one...who made it, Jim. I wish it...had been Mandy...or Lindsay."

"You haven't listened to a word I said, have you? Huh?" Jim let go of Blair's hand and arm, though Blair was quick to fasten his hand to the lapel of Jim's coat to keep the contact. Both of Jim's hands went to either side of Blair's tear-dampened face. "You are _not_ a consolation prize of some sort here, buddy. You're a gift, Blair. Out of all this horror, your life is the one miracle that was given to me to get me through this. I'm so damned glad you're going to be okay," Jim stated, giving in to his own tears a moment. "I need you, partner. I always did, I always will." He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Blair's. 

"I'm sorry...to do this...today," Blair said, getting his composure back slowly. Jim straightened up and grabbed a couple of tissues from the box near the bed and set about the task of blotting the tears off Blair's face.

"This is the day for it, Chief. Just because you couldn't be there doesn't mean you aren't allowed to cry or grieve."

"Was everything nice?"

"Yeah. Lindsay's aunts did a great job with the arrangements. Her sister sang...she has a really beautiful voice. Lindsay did too, when she used to sing to Mandy all the time." Jim paused. "It was a nice service, I guess. All I know is it hurt," Jim said honestly, still holding onto Blair's hand.

"Any leads?" Blair asked. Jim smiled at him, knowing that Blair realized Jim had had as much as he could take of talking about the deaths and the funeral.

"Nothing concrete. I've busted a few lefties in my time, and only about three of them fit the profile that might come back to take revenge. I hope it isn't the beginning of a pattern."

"A serial killer you mean?"

"Right. Mandy and Lindsay are gone. I can't change that. I just hope that they weren't the first of many families."

"That would be horrible."

"I don't want to think they died because of me. That you almost died because of me. Again."

"Now who's taking blame they don't have coming?"

"Touche." Jim squeezed Blair's hand and held it in both of his. "How do you feel, really?"

"Everything hurts, but they tell me I can get up tomorrow."

"That's great! Hey, pretty soon, you can get out of here."

"I feel so useless in here. I want to do something...help you somehow."

"You did that just by surviving this, Chief."

"I mean with the case, and with...you know...you'll have to eventually...well, take care of stuff."

"You mean the house." Jim watched as Blair nodded. "It's still sealed as a crime scene for now. Simon got in and grabbed me some clothes and shoes and my shaving gear. Plus stuff for Lindsay and Mandy to wear." He sighed and then continued. "As soon as we get the all-clear, a cleaning crew that...know how to deal with situations like these...are going to clean up the place, and then it's going up for sale." Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Lindsay's mother and sister and her aunts said they'd take care of her things, but I want to do some of that myself. Get that hen party going and they kind of forget that I'm still here."

"You look exhausted, buddy. Are you sleeping at all?"

"I told you--"

"Yeah, you sleep on the couches. I heard. Bet your neck and back are killin' you right about now."

"I've felt better. I just can't...every time I try to sleep...I see them."

"So do I, Jim. It's going to take a long time for that to go away, I think. Now that they're taking me off some of the pain meds, sleep is harder and harder. I keep remembering..."

"I'm going to ask to stay in here. I'll tell them I'm guarding you."

"Are you?"

"Simon's had a 24-hour guard on you from the beginning until we figure out what this is about. But I'd rather do it myself, officially, and I'd probably get some real sleep in that chair. I could pull it up next to the bed here in case you needed me...oh, hell, who am I kidding? In case we needed each other."

"Yeah," Blair responded, smiling slightly. "I'd like that."

* * *

Jim did doze off fairly quickly in his new sleeping spot next to Blair's bed. It seemed surreal to slide into sleep without listening for Amanda's breathing and heartbeat, knowing he wouldn't hear her cry or get up to go hold her sometime during the night.

He was startled out of sleep by Blair's voice. The younger man was talking agitatedly in his sleep, whining and getting more and more vocal. Jim leaned over the bed and started stroking Blair's hair, murmuring reassurances to him. The other man soon woke with a start, staring at Jim in wide-eyed fear until he processed where he was and who he was seeing.

"It's just me, buddy. Bad dream?" Blair just nodded. "I've been pretty fitful too."

"I know it's not real comfortable or easy, but would you...do you think you could...if I moved over...could you hold me a while?"

"I'll give it a shot, Chief. Be careful now," Jim admonished as Blair eased himself over in the bed to clear a narrow strip, where Jim carefully stretched out beside him. Since the other side of Blair's body was marred with the shoulder and chest injury, and his midsection had been ravaged by yet another bullet, the most contact Jim could risk was just the closeness of his body to his friend. Blair grasped his hand and laced their fingers, pulling Jim's arm up to rest on the unmarred side of his chest. Jim found his face resting against a few soft, stray curls.

"Are you as uncomfortable as you look?" Blair finally asked, drawing a little chuckle out of Jim.

"Actually, buddy, it feels pretty good to be here. Go back to sleep. I'm right here."

"So'm I--I mean, if you want to talk or can't sleep or anything," Blair added.

"Gotcha. Now sleep, Chief. You need the rest."

Blair settled down easily and slept, and within moments, Jim was right behind him. When morning dawned and the nurses were making their early rounds, Blair had to rouse Jim from the only truly deep sleep the man had gotten since the death of his family.

* * *

Blair was to be released from the hospital on a cold but sunny day in late November. The two men had passed Thanksgiving together, purposely dining on pizza and other non-traditional foods, hoping to ignore the holiday altogether. Now, with the festivity of the Christmas season approaching, Jim was relieved that he would at least have Blair out of the sterile confines of the hospital.

It seemed a bit surreal letting himself into the loft as if he'd never left. He had been surprised when Blair never moved out of the little bedroom downstairs to utilize the larger upstairs room. In this case, it was just as well, since Blair really wasn't supposed to be taking on steps just yet.

Blair hadn't changed anything in the time since Jim had left. What items Jim had chosen for the loft's decor were still in place, and the big bedroom upstairs was essentially untouched, looking as neat and sterile as it did when he'd packed up the last of his things to move into the new house.

Jim felt that wave of guilt again when he realized that he felt as if he were "coming home" at last. His home was with his wife and daughter, in their new house. But yet, whenever he walked in the door of the loft, whether to visit Blair or now, standing in his friend's room, gathering up his clothes, it was like coming home again. 

He headed back for the hospital and found a very anxious Blair sitting in the chair, looking out the window of his room.

"Watching the parking lot for me, Chief?" Jim quipped, tossing the duffle bag of clothes on the bed.

"I am just _so_ ready to get out of this place, man. I _hate_ hospitals."

"Okay, pal, let's get you ready to make your big exit then."

Jim carefully helped Blair out of his pajamas and into regular street clothes for the first time in two weeks. The damaged shoulder still meant his arm was to be kept in a sling, but it could be carefully slipped out of its protection long enough for Jim to ease a sweater sleeve over it. 

A short time later, Blair was dressed in his jeans, a bulky sweater and one of Jim's leather coats. The larger coat allowed them to cover the immobilized arm in its sling and still give some decent coverage in front. Over his objections, Blair was made to take the obligatory wheelchair ride out to the truck. Since his right side was essentially undamaged, he flopped his good arm around Jim's shoulders while the larger man lifted him up into the passenger seat. 

"How's it feel to be sprung?" Jim almost sounded cheerful as he put the truck in gear and pulled out into the mid-day traffic.

"Great. I was really starting to bounce off the walls in that place." Blair was silent a moment, watching the familiar sights of Cascade pass his window. "Simon came by yesterday while you were at the station. He said there were no new leads--nothing panned out from your old arrests."

"Not so far." Jim sighed. "I don't want you to worry about the case. You've got your plate full getting well."

"How's Lindsay's mom doing?" 

"I'm supposed to have lunch with her tomorrow. The house is all...cleaned up now, and she wants to start going through Lindsay's things."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Not ready," Jim shot back, immediately. 

"Then she should back off, man. Lindsay was _your_ wife."

"I never did get along with Marge," Jim said, referring to his mother-in-law. "She figures this is my fault somehow--that someone was trying to get at me, or that I didn't protect Lindsay and Mandy." He shook his head. "Plus every time we had a fight, Lin went to her and told her what an SOB I was."

"Isn't that par for the course with mothers and daughters? I mean, they were real close, and you know, when you fight with somebody and get mad enough, you can really hate them for a little while, anyway." 

"She thinks I'm not grieving enough."

"What?" Blair's head snapped around to look at Jim. Anyone with eyes could see the pallor of his complexion, the fatigue in his eyes, and the overall slump of his posture.

"I haven't been to the cemetery since the funeral."

"That's what she said?"

"No, that's what I'm saying. Dammit, Blair, maybe she's right."

"Man, you were overloaded--barraged. You had not one, but two, huge losses, me laid up on the critical list, not to mention the fact it was a violent crime--which is another whole trauma by itself that's different from an accident or natural causes. As for going to the cemetery, when would you have time? You've been with me just about 24 hours a day since I was taken to the hospital. Besides, we all grieve in our own ways. For some people, it's visiting a grave every day. For others, that doesn't hold any lure or consolation."

"I can't stand to see Mandy's headstone." Jim's hands tightened on the wheel. "I don't know if I can handle this, Chief. I can't accept it. I can't face the fact she's gone. And when I go there, and see that stone, with the little lamb carved on it, and her name...Dammit!" Jim slapped the steering wheel and leaned his forehead on his hand, as his elbow rested on the driver's door. The tears were back. "I don't want to do this anymore!"

"Do what, buddy?" Blair asked softly.

"I don't want to...I want her to be okay. I want my daughter back. It isn't fair, dammit."

"No, it's not fair, man. It sucks."

"And I want to be able to feel what Marge wants me to feel. But I can't. I loved Lindsay, but things weren't right between us. I could feel that almost from the start. God dammit, Blair, I feel so fucking guilty," Jim shouted out through tears that were falling now, blurring his vision as he tried to drive. "She was a good wife, she was the mother of my child--and God help me, I wasn't happy with her!"

"Jim, come on, man, pull over up here." Blair pointed at the parking lot of a vacant appliance store. Jim followed the instructions like a robot, stopping the truck in one of the many empty spaces.

"I didn't give her what she deserved. I feel so fucking guilty because she's dead and her mother's right...when I cry at night it's for my little girl...dammit to hell, Blair, I tried so hard to feel what I was supposed to feel, but I hated my life! I hated that goddamn house, and I hate my job...and I--I--I--"

"Jim, come on, buddy. It's okay. You don't have to explain it. Just let it go." Blair unfastened his seatbelt and slid carefully over to Jim, pulling the other man's head down against his chest.

"I'll hurt you," Jim objected weakly.

"I'm not made out of china. Come here." Blair ignored the twinges of pain in his shoulder and incision as he found a safe spot for Jim's head to rest on his chest. With his good hand, he stroked Jim's hair back while the other man poured out his grief.

"I feel...like I'm...losing it..."

"You are, buddy. You're losing the pain. You're letting it out right now. You need to do that." Blair kept up his gentle caresses of Jim's head. "It's so natural to go back and think about all the things you did or didn't do that you want to change when someone dies suddenly. And you think of all the nasty thoughts you had about them and it tears you up. But, Jim, everybody has those thoughts. How many times did you get pissed off at me for putting you through some inane test and just wanted me to get out of your face?"

"But I never wanted--"

"Shhhh. I know. I know, buddy. You didn't want me gone, or dead. You were angry. Like any normal human being. I got pissed at your house rules and you ordering me around sometimes, and there were times I stormed off, mad as hell, thinking nasty thoughts. But I never, ever wanted to lose you. I never stopped loving you because I was mad at you. But I have been angry at you. Just like you were angry at Lindsay for pressuring you into changing so many things about your life in ways you didn't like." Blair rested his cheek against Jim's hair. "If all this had been reversed, and you had died, she'd be sobbing now and beating herself up for making you do so many things you weren't happy about."

"I didn't...love her...enough. God, she deserved...more..."

"Shhhh. It's okay, buddy. You gave her a beautiful home, you did everything she asked you to do, you were a wonderful father to Mandy--what else were you supposed to do?"

"I was supposed to love her more!!" Jim shouted through his tears.

"More than what? More than enough to give up the job you loved to make her happy? More than enough to move into a house you didn't like? More than enough to join that retarded neighborhood watch?" Blair was relieved to feel a watery chuckle against his chest. "Shit, Jim, you jumped through every hoop she held up and a few she didn't even think of. You treated her like a princess. How many men do you know who take care of almost all the nighttime baby duties, huh?"

"But...deep inside...I didn't...she wasn't...I didn't love her enough, Blair."

"Because you're grieving harder for Mandy? Is that it? Jim, she was your little girl--actually a physical part of you. The loss of a child is one of the most horrible, difficult things to go through. Many people take that harder than the loss of a spouse."

"Because...I was...glad...you were...the one...who lived. God help me, Blair, if I could have chosen I'd have wanted _you_ to live!" Jim blurted out, followed by another wave of tears. Blair was temporarily dumbfounded by that statement. All along, he'd felt guilty for being the survivor. He had felt that if fate had just shifted events slightly, Jim could have at least maybe had his wife instead of his friend. He frantically searched the dark recesses of his mind for something to console the sobbing man huddled against him.

"Jim, our relationship is different from a normal friendship. Because of the whole Sentinel thing, you depend on me more than you normally would. It's natural that you would feel kind of frantic if you couldn't talk to me or turn to me at all. Our friendship and connection would be hard to fit in with any marriage, and that's why you're feeling like you've somehow 'cheated' Lindsay. I know I was a source of conflict between you two. I know she felt like your attention was divided, even though she knew why. It's not your fault that you have heightened senses or that you need help with them."

"But it's my fault...that I...that I was more...worried about you...when I got...to the house...than I was...about Lin," he choked out in little gasps.

"You're my Blessed Protector. It's in the Sentinel contract, remember? Instinct, man." Blair tried to lighten the mood a little, but Jim was having none of it.

"Marge is right. I'm not...grieving enough for...Lindsay."

"Marge is way out of line, Jim. She's hurting and upset and she's lashing out. But she's still way out of line. She can't judge your grief." Blair ignored the ache in his injured shoulder. He knew he was the only person Jim would let down with this way, and there was no way he was going to staunch the flow now. "Listen to me. You gave Lindsay everything she asked you for, and you were a great dad. You don't have anything to apologize for. Not to her, not to Mandy--and sure as fucking hell not to her overbearing mother. And that house is your business. If she wants to help you on your terms in your good time to sort Lindsay's things, fine. If not, you have a right to say no. It's your house, man, and she was your wife. Don't let her mother push you around." Blair took a deep breath, immediately regretting it, but worked hard at swallowing the pain. Jim was more important. "I won't be laid up that much longer. I'll help you with anything you have to do, you know that. I'm right here."

"I know that." Jim had quieted considerably, and finally moved away from Blair. "Is your shoulder okay?"

"Fine," Blair lied, smiling at his friend.

"Liar."

"Okay, so it hurts. So what? No harm done. It hurts anyway."

"I'm sorry."

"For what? Hurting? Grieving? My God, Jim, you've handled this...I don't know how you've gotten through it all so well."

"I'm not doing so great right now, Chief," Jim retorted, sniffling and blinking, trying to get his composure back.

"Jim, do you think I'm weak because my arm's in a sling and you had to lift me into the truck?"

"Hell no. You're recovering from multiple gunshot wounds--"

"Exactly. I'm recovering. And while I'm doing that, I'm weak. I'm vulnerable. You had two really big wounds of your own, only they weren't physical. You're recovering, man. So you're a little weak sometimes. You have the physical strength to haul me around and take care of me, and even though I feel pretty torn up over all this too, if I have a little emotional strength you can draw on, take it. Do it. Holding back, not letting your grief out with somebody you trust, who loves you, is just silly. It'd be as dumb as me refusing your help while I'm recuperating. We're both pretty fucked up right now. Maybe between the two of us, we can patch each other up."

"If you had died, I--"

"I didn't. Don't even go back over that in your mind anymore, buddy. I'm here, I'm going to be fine. Yeah, I could have died, but I didn't. You're not alone."

"Guess I'm pretty lucky." Jim smiled slightly and took a hold of Blair's good hand.

"You're not to blame for any of this, man. And you were a damn good husband and father. Don't forget that."

"If you say so." Jim slumped back in the seat.

"I say so."

"Let's go home, huh?" Jim started up the truck again and managed a little smile for Blair, who returned it.

Continued in part [two](millionpieces1.html).


	2. Chapter 2

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 5 parts.

## A Million Pieces

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Continued from part one. 

* * *

**A MILLION PIECES** \- part two 

by Candy Apple 

Jim felt the first little improvement in his spirits as he moved around the familiar kitchen of the loft and made dinner for himself and Blair. The younger man was stretched out on the couch, flipping from channel to channel in search of something to entertain him. With his classes taken over for the remainder of the semester by other professors, all Blair had to concentrate on now was getting the rest he needed to heal. 

By the time dinner was ready, Blair was sleeping soundly on the couch. Jim stood at the back of the couch and took in the sight of his sleeping friend with a fond smile. In these rare few moments, the pain and trauma of Blair's own ordeal was smoothed out of his perfect features. This was his Blair, not "Professor Sandburg" with his hair pulled back and glasses in place. 

"Jim?" The sleepy voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Dinner's just about ready, Chief." Jim smiled slightly and moved back toward the kitchen.

"Are you okay? You looked almost zoned there for a minute." Blair made his way out to the table as Jim put the plates of lasagna at their places. "Cool, one-handed food!" Blair enthused, wielding his fork in his functional right hand.

"I wasn't zoned, just thinking," Jim replied, grinning at Blair's enthusiasm over his meal. Blair had tolerated having Jim cut his meat in the hospital, and had wrestled a few hard-to-eat meals on his own, but the prospect of something that tasted good that he could manage with one hand and just his fork brought out the best in his mood.

"This is great," Blair mumbled around a mouthful of food. "God, I _hate_ hospital food."

"It's all the same color, that's what always bothers me," Jim added, pouring what looked like red wine into two wine glasses. "Sparkling grape juice, buddy. Won't give you a bad trip with your pain meds."

"I didn't realize," Blair paused to chew and swallow, "how much I missed your Italian food."

"You did, huh?" Jim asked, grinning.

" _Nobody_ does sauce like you do. Just the right amount of oregano," Blair added, bringing up an old joke from years earlier.

"I'm kind of rusty at it. Lin usually cooks--I mean, she used to do most of the cooking," Jim concluded quietly.

"You okay?" Blair dispensed with his fork to lay his hand on Jim's arm.

"Oh yeah. I'm okay," Jim said, smiling. "Blair...I..." Jim reached over and covered the hand on his arm. "I'm really glad you're here."

"Always will be, man. Long as you want me around."

* * *

Blair was sleepy, feeling the pain medication taking effect. Jim had gotten him settled very comfortably in his own bed, which was a big improvement over the hospital bed. Still, he was restless. Jim had paced around upstairs for a long time before settling into bed. Blair hoped the familiar surroundings would help his friend get a little much needed sleep in a comfortable bed.

He had just begun to doze when the sound of Jim's voice shook him back to reality again. It must have begun as quiet, agitated mumblings, but now Jim was yelling as if someone were murdering him.

Blair pulled himself out of bed and made his way stealthily out into the living room, wanting to be sure that there was no one else in the loft. His own experience had left him jumpy and a little spooked, wondering if the man who did the shooting that night would think to come back and eliminate the only living witness.

The stairs looked ten miles high as he slowly made his way to the top. Technically, the steps were still off limits, but from the sounds of the shouts and moans coming from above, Jim needed more than just a yell from the first floor to bring him around and get him calm again.

Finally reaching the side of the big bed, Blair opted to stand there and try to reach Jim with his voice first. He couldn't really wrestle Jim physically, and he didn't want to risk getting an incision opened by an accidental blow from flailing arms.

"Jim, Jim!" He had to raise his voice over Jim's. "Come on, man, it's me, it's Blair. Listen to my voice. Concentrate on my voice." Blair paused as Jim's face lost a little of its agonized expression and his shouts turned more to confused, pained mutterings. "Jim, you're having a nightmare. Follow my voice, buddy. Wake up." Blair ventured to sit on the edge of the bed and reached his mobile hand out to take a hold of Jim's where it rested on the larger man's stomach. "Jim, I'm right here. It's safe to open your eyes. Come on, follow my voice. I know its scary but you can get away from it. Just wake up and look at me."

Blair wasn't sure if it was the firm pressure on Jim's hand or the constant sound of his voice, but the other man soon calmed and opened his eyes, staring a little blankly at Blair for a moment before speaking.

"How'd you get up here, Chief?"

"I took the elevator," Blair quipped, squeezing Jim's hand a little.

"Sorry about that. I...I had a nightmare," Jim said, brushing his free hand over his eyes to dispel the moisture there.

"Sounded like a nasty one. You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," Jim responded in a hoarse voice.

"Want me to stay?" Blair offered. He knew if he waited for Jim to ask, they'd both die of old age.

"Probably better not. I might jostle you."

"Is that a proposition, man?" Blair was relieved to hear a little snort of a laugh from Jim.

"Still a one-track mind. I'm worried about your stitches, dummy." Jim was still smiling a little, and still holding Blair's hand.

"Let's give it a shot. Move over. I should have my good side toward you." Blair waited while Jim obeyed the instructions, and then carefully lowered himself into the vacated spot. "Come here, huh?" He motioned for Jim to scoot over. "Nothing's screwed up on this side. Come on, I won't bite you, buddy." 

Jim wasn't sure what surprised him more--that Blair was settling into his bed and encouraging him to sleep with his head on the smaller man's uninjured shoulder, or that he was going along with it. But the closeness felt so good against the coldness and pain of the nightmare, he couldn't help it.

"Are you okay like this?" Jim asked his partner.

"I'm fine. Tell you the truth--I wasn't sleeping very well downstairs either."

"I keep thinking it should get better. I can't be like this for the rest of my life," Jim concluded, the discouragement plain in his voice.

"We've both been through hell, Jim. It's going to be a long time before we feel okay again. I jump at every little noise and shadow, I don't sleep very well except for when you're with me, and I've had some nightmares...oh, man, worse than any I've ever had in my life."

"It just doesn't get any better. The pain doesn't go away. I keep looking for an...emotional pain dial, I guess. I feel like I have to turn it down before I go insane, but it just keeps pounding at me... This isn't making a hell of a lot of sense is it?"

"Sure it is," Blair responded reassuringly, stroking Jim's hair and leaning his cheek against it. "You know what might help? We've got to think about something pleasant. You know, sort of a joint meditation. We can visualize something nice." Blair was quiet a few minutes. "I've got it. Remember when we went to Stephen's place at Lake Tahoe a couple years ago? The house had such a beautiful view of the lake. You could lie in bed at night with the windows open and listen to the water. I used to get up sometimes and look out at those waves...all dark and shiny, just kissed by the moonlight. Picture yourself walking along the shore--"

"Us."

"Huh?"

"Picture _us_ walking along the shore." Jim's voice was already calmer, and Blair smiled at his correction.

"Okay. Picture us walking along the edge of the water. It's late, and we're just strolling along, not needing to talk...just kind of enjoying the peace and the solitude. You can hear the waves lapping at the shore, and the moon is turning everything a sort of beautiful white... almost ethereal."

"What are we doing there? Are we on vacation or something?"

"You're breaking the mood here, man," Blair admonished, chortling a little. "Okay, _Detective Ellison_ ," Blair began, "Stephen rented us the place for a week."

"Cheap-ass. He could have let us stay free," Jim quipped, yawning against Blair's shoulder. 

"Who's telling this damn meditation story anyway?" Blair asked, with completely feigned anger. Jim just laughed.

"You are, Darwin. I'll be quiet."

"Okay. Where was I? Oh, yeah, the moon. The moon is turning everything this beautiful silvery white color, and it's a mild night so--"

"The breeze isn't cold, but it's blowing all those curls over your eyes, and you keep tucking them behind your ears, but they won't stay."

"You mean I didn't pull my hair back?" Blair asked, grinning, wondering why his hair was foremost in Jim's mind.

"No," Jim responded, with a distinct smile in his voice. "You're not Dr. Sandburg on this trip. You're Blair. And Blair is definitely a loose curls in the wind kind of person."

"Yeah, well, don't tell anybody, but Dr. Sandburg is only around long enough to keep the day job."

"I already know that, Blair." Jim's voice sounded groggier now, and as he was relaxing, Blair was becoming more puzzled by the conversation. "You're wearing something white...it's a loose white shirt, open halfway down the front..." Jim's voice was slurring now, and his arm was wrapping around Blair's body, safely beneath his abdominal incision. "So beau'ful..." he murmured, sliding off into sleep.

Blair looked down at him, relieved he had calmed enough to sleep. He was completely puzzled at why Jim suddenly turned a solitary walk on the shore to a soliloquy on Blair Sandburg, Moon God. Maybe as Jim dozed off to sleep, his thoughts of his friend and his late wife were somehow blending together. After all, Lindsay was the last person Jim slept with. In the truest sense of the phrase, when it isn't being used as a euphemism for an activity that has little to do with sleeping, he and Jim were "sleeping together", and had been since Blair had been moved out of ICU. 

Safe and cozy, nestled in the side of the bed Jim had warmed up for him, feeling secure under the protection of a very large sleeping sentinel, Blair finally fell asleep. Neither man was plagued with nightmares the rest of the night.

* * *

Marge Stanton was seated at a table near the window of the rather expensive restaurant she had chosen as the place to meet her son-in-law. Dressed in a simple grey tailored jacket and skirt, her white hair was artfully styled in a dramatic sweep. When Jim spotted her there waiting, he went through his usual internal dialogue, giving himself a pep talk to bolster him for meeting with this woman he didn't really like and who definitely didn't like him.

"Marge, how are you?" Jim tried his best concerned tone as he delivered the obligatory peck on the cheek, then took his seat across from her. 

"Certainly not very well," she replied, pulling out a day planner and a pen. "I thought we could decide on a time to go through Lindsay's things--"

"Marge, I'm not really ready to do that yet."

"I realize that you're busy with your police work--"

"That isn't what I meant. I'm on leave from the department indefinitely. With everything that's happened...and Blair's still recovering, and--"

"You're living with him now?" she asked, an odd tone to her voice, as if she found that arrangement either distasteful or suspicious.

"Blair invited me to stay at the loft. I don't really want to be at the house, and he needs someone there while he's recuperating. He's doing much better, by the way," Jim added pointedly, annoyed at Marge's coldness in never inquiring.

"Was he able to identify the man...that night?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly. Jim was marginally softened by this small show of human weakness.

"Not really," Jim responded, keeping up the department's official story that Blair could tell them almost nothing. He couldn't identify the man's face, but he'd supplied the height, build and dominant hand characteristic. "It was dark in the room, and it happened very quickly. He was shot three times."

"I'm aware of that. I didn't come here to talk about Mr. Sandburg."

"Dr. Sandburg, actually," Jim persisted. She was pushing his buttons, and with his own grief wearing on his stamina and patience, he decided to punch a few of hers in return. "He got his Ph.D. last year."

"Lindsay used to say you were obsessed with this man. I never took her too seriously...until now. You've talked about him non-stop since you arrived. In case you hadn't noticed, your wife was the one who was murdered," she stated coldly.

"That does it." Jim stood up and tossed a couple of bills on the table to cover the carafe of wine Marge had ordered. "I'm very sorry that you lost your daughter. But I lost my daughter too, as well as my wife. You don't need to remind me of what happened. I'm the one who found them, remember? And yes, I probably am a little obsessed with Blair because he took three bullets just for being in my house, holding my daughter. Because he's the only family I have left." Jim snatched his jacket off the back of the chair. "Oh, and about the house? I'll be taking care of that myself. I'll be happy to send you some of Lindsay's things."

"You never really loved her, did you?" Marge pinned him with a cold glare.

"I don't have to justify myself to you. My relationship with Lindsay was between her and me."

"And Dr. Sandburg," Marge added pointedly.

"Good-bye, Marge." Jim strode out of the restaurant and got back in the truck, starting up the engine.

//The old battle axe is right. That's why you're so pissed off at her that you can't cut her any slack. You never did love Lindsay the way you love Blair. Making love to her never made you feel as complete as just _sleeping in the same bed_ as Blair. Burying your nose in her hair only made you wish for it to be that mass of soft brown curls. How can I blame Marge for hating my guts--and Blair's? Lindsay had to know there was something seriously wrong between us, and she had to talk to someone about it, and that someone was probably her mother.//

Jim put the truck in gear and headed back for the loft.

* * *

Taggert was engrossed in a real-life court room TV show when Jim let himself in the apartment. Joel was always one of the first in line to volunteer to fill in for Jim guarding Blair.

"Where's Sandburg?" Jim asked, heading into the living room to sink into the other couch.

"Man, that was a fast lunch. Things not go well with the mother-in-law?" Taggert gave him a knowing smile, and Jim chuckled a little.

"You could say that."

"The kid's taking a nap. The painkiller really knocks him out."

"Tell me about it." Jim smiled fondly. "He almost never takes anything, so when you give him something strong, it really knocks him on his butt."

"Well, if you're back on duty, I guess I'll head back to the office. I've got a mountain of reports to catch up on." Taggert hauled himself up out of the couch with a sigh. "Thanks for ruining my good excuse not to do anything but watch Court TV all afternoon." He pulled on his raincoat and headed for the door.

"Anytime, pal," Jim responded, laughing a little. "Thanks for coming over." Jim watched as Taggert waved briefly on his way out the door.

Jim ventured stealthily to Blair's room, carefully pushing open one of the French doors to check on his sleeping partner. The younger man was on his back, fully dressed, lying on top of the bedspread. There was an extra pillow under his injured arm, and his free hand lay palm up on the pillow next to his head.

Slipping silently into the room, Jim carefully turned Blair's desk chair so he could sit and watch the other man sleep. He thought back over his ill-fated encounter with Marge, realizing that not only was she rude and out of line, but he was edgy when he arrived. It might not have mattered what she said. He would have been uneasy. Uneasy because her grief over Lindsay was so honest and profound. Her grief for Lindsay was what Jim's grief for Mandy was--gut-wrenching, painful, achy...complete. But Jim knew that deep in his heart, his pain over Lindsay's passing was more that of the loss of a good friend, and the overwhelming guilt of having married her to purge Blair from his system. That plan had failed and Lindsay had known that somehow, for some reason, she didn't have Jim's heart.

//I bought roses by the dozens for her, took her to expensive restaurants, bought her the best gifts I could afford for every occasion... and there was a sadness in her every time. Something maybe only a sentinel could detect. Because I couldn't give her myself, I gave her everything else. I made the career moves she wanted me to make, bought the house she wanted...I let her pull my strings like a puppet because I felt so damned guilty...//

//What did I ever give Blair? A lot of lip, and a considerable portion of my bad days and bad moods...I sure as hell didn't go out of my way to shower him with gifts. I was lucky to remember his birthday. But he always had my heart, my love...secrets I've never shared with anyone else. Blair had everything that mattered, and everything Lindsay wanted. No wonder her mother is resentful, and no wonder Blair's name does all but bring forth fangs and claws.//

//Oh, Lin, I'm sorry. You were right. You couldn't compete with Blair. I'm so sorry I ruined your life and made you try. You said once you could fight and win if it were another woman I wanted. You could be prettier, sexier, more understanding. But you always said that Blair was a force larger than life that there was no use fighting. You were so smart, Lin. You knew me pretty well, considering I never really shared any of myself with you. When I was hurt, angry, confused, scared--I still went to Blair and laid it all at his feet. When I was involved in that bad bust last year and saw two good friends killed only feet away from me, I didn't come to you. I came straight to Blair, cried on his shoulder, looked to him to reason through it with me, to gather up the pieces and put me back together. And he did. He always could. You were sitting home, several months pregnant, and I was over here--the place that was home to me, in my heart--letting Blair tend the wounds and heal me.//

//Is that why you wanted me off the streets? Because when I left active field duty, I didn't need Blair anymore? Smooth move, Lin. I never would've guessed if I wasn't sitting around home thinking too much with way too much time on my hands. Were you really afraid of my being killed in the line of duty--or were you striking out at Blair the only way you knew how? To cut him out of my life?//

//There I go again. I get angry at my wife for coming between Blair and me. Same old song. I love him so much, and I guess I always will. I can marry as many women as I can find, and still, I'll be loving Blair when it's all over. I almost lost him, and never told him how much he means to me. How much I love him. All the sweet little things he's always done for me, and I took it all for granted until I said those vows and dashed out of that church with a wife and a new life. It was a real reality check to find out the world didn't revolve around me. Blair's world always did. He spoiled me for anyone else, and we never even kissed. I could never feel anything that deep for another person, and so my marriage was a shallow imitation of what a lifetime love should be...could be...with Blair...//

"Jim?" Blair's voice startled Jim out of his thoughts.

"Hey there, Chief. Have a good nap?" He smiled at the two sleepy blue eyes that gradually focused on him.

"What time is it?"

"About one."

"I slept about a half hour, I guess... What're you doing here?" Blair asked through a jaw stretching yawn.

"Marge and I didn't see eye to eye. No big surprise there. I just decided to leave before it got...uglier than it already was."

"Was she pressuring you about the house again?"

"Yeah, among other things."

"Such as?"

"Why don't you try to go back to sleep, Chief? I can find something to do--"

"Come on, Jim. What aren't you saying?"

"You want me to massage your arm?"

"If you'll talk to me."

"Deal." Jim moved over to sit on the bed and carefully unfastened the sling to free Blair's arm. "Couple more days and you can toss that thing." He smiled as he slid the sleeve of Blair's sweatshirt up and began rubbing his hand and wrist gently. Blair's eyes drifted shut at the contact, and Jim could detect a relaxation of the entire body on the bed.

"Feels good. My arm gets so stiff stuck in that stupid thing." 

"How's your shoulder feeling?"

"Still hurts, but not as bad as before. Doesn't feel so much like someone has a knife in it all day."

"That's an improvement," Jim responded, chuckling a little.

"Okay, enough stalling. Tell me what happened at lunch."

"She pulled out her day planner to set a time to clean out Lindsay's things...I guess something just snapped in me." Jim carefully worked his way up above the wrist.

"There's more to it than that. Come on, Jim, spill it."

"Yeah, there is." Jim slowed his massage mid-way up Blair's forearm, turning it almost into a caress. "She made some remarks..."

"Don't tell me, let me guess. Somehow _I_ entered the conversation."

"It sure as hell wasn't from Marge having the common decency to ask how your recovery was going."

"Why would she care, Jim? Seriously? I only met her once or twice. And to her, there _was_ a dispensable person in the house that night, and she's probably pissed off at the world because that's the person who survived while her daughter and granddaughter are dead."

"Don't ever say that. There's nothing even remotely dispensable about you, Chief."

"I didn't mean that I thought I was dispensable. I meant that out of the three people attacked that night, she loved two of them and probably didn't really like the third. It's natural for her to feel bitter that it couldn't have been Lindsay or Mandy who lived."

"Anyway, I told her how you were doing," Jim continued, picking up with his massage.

"Stirring the pot, were you?" Blair probed with a slight grin.

"Okay, yeah, a little," Jim replied, surprised to find himself smiling. Gently rubbing the soft, warm flesh beneath his hands, looking into those big blue eyes, how could he not?

"So you were shoving me down her throat, and she just got nastier."

"Essentially. She insinuated that you were coming between Lindsay and me, and that I was obsessed with you." Jim shook his head. "Truth is, I get so goddamn mad at her because...she's right."

"I'm the only family you have left. Why wouldn't you be a little obsessive?"

"That's what I told her," Jim said, chuckling a little at hearing his words come out of Blair's mouth. He paused his massage near Blair's elbow and looked deeply into the other man's eyes. "But there's a lot more to it than that. I...I love you, Blair. I always have."

"I know that. I love you too. But it's real nice to hear, man." Blair smiled fondly and squeezed Jim's arm with his good hand.

"You don't understand what I'm saying, Chief. I'm saying I love you...the way I...the way I _should_ have loved Lindsay." Jim held up his hand to forestall Blair's reply as the younger man opened his mouth. "Hear me out. I did the most... _wrong_ thing I ever did in my life when I married Lindsay. I was...having feelings for you. Feelings that went way beyond friendship."

"Jim, we've always been...soulmates. Despite the wildly divergent packaging, we've always been extremely simpatico--"

"God, Sandburg, could you just shut up for once and let me say what I have to say?" Jim shot back sharply, taking his hands off Blair's arm. He closed his eyes against the wounded look on Blair's face. "Aw, buddy, I'm sorry. You're the last person I want to yell at." He took a hold of the hand on Blair's injured side and just caressed the forearm with his free hand. He wasn't even pretending to do anything therapeutic anymore. "This is so hard to say. You have to just let me say it."

"Okay." Blair nodded solemnly, squeezing Jim's hand a little.

"Hey, do that again," Jim smiled at the increased strength in the hand. 

"Remember that little stress ball thing Ryf brought me in the hospital?"

"Yeah?"

"It helps a lot. Now, go ahead. I won't interrupt again. I promise."

"When I knew that there was something...different between us, it made me nervous. I know that isn't the way you want to go...I mean, with all the women you went out with... So I realized I had to 'get a life'. Get over being so damned dependent on you. Lindsay just came along at the right time--wrong time for her, right time for me. She was smart, interesting, pretty, and I liked her. Very much. Next to you, I enjoyed being with her more than anyone else. But that was what I should have realized--that it would always be second place for her. I _did_ realize it, but I went ahead anyway. I thought it was probably my best chance to make a new life, to split up what was becoming a painful situation for me."

"Jim, I--"

"Let me finish, Chief. I tried, very hard, to make a go of that marriage. I did everything I could for Lin, but she knew she wasn't getting what she really wanted, which was my love--my devotion...and all the ugly parts of myself that it's debatable she would have wanted if she'd had them. My bad moods, my fears, my...hang-ups. With her, I was always polite. Always at my best. But never natural. With you, I was always good old, undistilled... _me_. She saw us together enough to know the difference. If I was edgy, I'd manage to keep it together with her, but when you'd come over, I'd snap at you for something, then apologize and spill my guts and we'd start working through it and she'd excuse herself to go start dinner or check on the baby or something. Everything that was real, that came from my heart...Blair, it's always been for you."

"Jim, please, let me--"

"No, you don't have to say anything. I completely understand that this is my problem. God, I fucked up her life so badly. She was such a wonderful wife and mother, a good friend--she would have made someone so happy. Someone who would have treasured her the way she deserved to be treasured. And Amanda. My little Mandy," Jim paused, having almost whispered his daughter's name as tears threatened again. "I adored her, Blair...but she should have never... _been_. She was conceived in a lie, not in love. When I made love to Lindsay, I told her she was everything, that I loved her...I said all the things you're supposed to say to a woman in bed--complimented her body, told her how hot she made me... Physically, that was all true. She was beautiful, and she was loving and energetic and innovative... But it was so...empty. And we brought Mandy into this world just long enough to...to suffer and die like this."

"Jim, dammit, you're going to let me talk this time." Blair struggled to pull himself into a sitting position, and finally gave up and let Jim help him, ending up with the pillow on his lap to support his arm, which was still free of the sling. "Why didn't you ever say anything to me when you first had these feelings?"

"You're kidding, right? For God's sake, Blair, do I look like I enjoy this? Who in the hell wants to be humiliated this way? I just now realized that you should know how I felt about you. When you nearly died, it just about killed me to think I had never let you in on that."

"If you had just said something... Jim, I felt the same way you did. Hell, probably _before_ you did. Almost from the first moment you really let me in--you know when that was?" Blair asked, smiling a little at Jim's stupefied expression. "When you forgave me for Larry trashing the loft the second time. You didn't throw me out." Both men chuckled a little at the recollection of the Barbary ape and its depredations in Jim's rather pristine loft. "When you saw the place, you were pissed off, but we cleaned it up together and then after I apologized about the ten _thousandth_ time, you told me it was okay. And when I said I'd pack and get out, you told me not to worry about it, that I could stay until I found the right place."

"And five years later..." Jim gestured at their surroundings.

"The point is, I really started falling in love with you then. And every time you went out with a woman, I wanted to say something. I wanted to stop you before you walked out the door... But I always wimped out. I didn't say anything." Blair felt the horrible stab of guilt shoot through him as he thought of how things might have been different if he'd just said something. He lowered his own eyes, unable to hold Jim's gaze.

"What about all the women you were involved with? I never saw you go out with a guy."

"I wasn't 'involved' with all that many women, Jim. There were a few, a couple who were special. Chris...Maya...they meant something to me. But neither one worked out. Like you, I didn't dislike being with a woman. Hell, it's all I ever did before I met you. So why would I go celibate all of a sudden?" Blair paused. "When you came home and said you were going to marry Lindsay, I felt like someone had ripped all my insides out. I wanted to scream at you, tell you that you couldn't do that...that _I_ was the one who loved you..."

"I wish you had. I wish one of us had said _something_..." Jim shook his head sadly. 

"You seemed so happy. And Lindsay was a wonderful woman. I couldn't ruin everything for you by hanging that on you, making you feel like you were somehow betraying me by marrying her. I knew it would tear you up inside to know you were really destroying me, and that you probably would call things off, even if you didn't feel like I felt." Blair finally looked up again a little hesitantly.

"You give me credit for a lot of nobility, Chief."

"Yeah, well, we both know we've made sacrifices to stay together, to be friends. I know about that offer you had from the CIA three years ago."

"Wait--how did you hear about that?"

"It was an off-handed remark Simon made. He assumed I knew. I never told you because I didn't want you getting all pissed off at Simon for slipping and saying something. But the point is, I know what a major opportunity that was for you."

"Like Borneo was for you."

"But all along, we've both walked away from things that would have been good career moves, or that we would have done had we been alone. I didn't want you to walk away from Lindsay because you were afraid of hurting me."

"I don't believe this," Jim stated, his voice weak. "All this with Lindsay...it was all for nothing. My God, Blair, she and Mandy are dead for no good reason."

"Jim, listen to me. Lindsay and Mandy aren't dead because of anything you did. It's not your fault. Even if they died because someone wanted to get to you through them, it's still not your fault."

"But it's my fault that my whole marriage was a big fucking lie. That I lied to Lindsay every minute we were together. That Mandy was brought into this world because of a lie."

"It's both our faults. If you're intent on taking responsibility for a tragedy you didn't create, then put the blame where it belongs. On both of us. I didn't say anything. I never stopped you from getting married. I never even let on that all I wanted was for you to one day discover you had it bad for me and just kiss me 'til I suffocated. We both played the game, and so we both have to live with how it ended."

"So what happens now?" Jim looked at Blair, realizing he was putting the full burden on his friend to guide the course of their relationship, but at that moment, he felt too stunned and emotionally drained to do it himself.

"I still love you, Jim. Nothing about that ever changed. But I think it's a little too soon for either one of us to handle doing anything about it. I mean, you've got a lot to work through about Lindsay and Mandy, and Lindsay's memory deserves some respect. I've got some healing to do before I'm good for much anyway."

"Blair, I...would kissing be too much?" Jim asked hesitantly.

"I still can't believe this is happening, man... All this time, we've been wanting the same thing...we could have been together, and all this time we've been miserable and trying to steal little moments together and neither one of us said _anything_."

"Blair?"

"What?" The younger man looked at him again, seeming almost confused, having been so deep in his own thoughts.

"I want to kiss you. Now."

"Yeah, I want that too." Blair smiled and reached out with his good hand to caress Jim's cheek. The other man leaned into the hand and covered it with his own, finally turning to kiss the palm. He slid carefully forward on the bed and reached his hand out to cup Blair's cheek. Jim took the lead, letting Blair stay relaxed against the pillows behind him.

The moment Jim's lips encountered Blair's, he felt his heart expand and fill with a kind of completion he'd never felt in his life. The other mouth was soft, warm, wet and yielding, opening and inviting him inside to explore. Just like Blair--always warm, open to him, loving, giving...

It was a prolonged, gentle joining of mouths and dueling of tongues. Jim finally drew back, not wanting Blair to get too out of breath, considering his injuries. He let his forehead rest against Blair's, as both of them seemed to be able to swap the same breath as long as they stayed close. Jim returned to the soft lips for one more short, sweet, nearly chaste kiss before pulling all the way back.

"Welcome home, love," Blair said in a quiet, husky voice.

Jim responded by very carefully taking Blair into his arms for the first time since the night of the shootings. The younger man's uninjured arm went around Jim's neck, while his still-just-marginally mobile left arm went weakly around Jim's back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. The large arms that went around Blair were remarkably gentle, yet held him close against the body of the man he thought he'd never have the chance to love.

"I still feel so damned...guilty," Jim finally said, in a broken voice. "I have everything I ever wanted...that ever mattered...in my arms right now. I shouldn't be happy in the middle of all this...horror."

"It's okay, Jim," Blair reassured softly, stroking Jim's hair. "You loved Mandy and Lindsay. You were good to them. You've cried for them. And when you feel a little more together, and I'm in better shape and can help, we'll work on nailing the bastard that killed them. You don't owe it to anyone to be lonely for the rest of your life, or to walk away from a relationship that's been here all along. We aren't going to do anything showy. No big announcements. And right now, the most important thing to me is just being close to you, us loving each other, being together... I don't think now is even the right time for us to move any farther...physically."

"You always understand everything," Jim whispered into Blair's hair. "God, I always needed you so much. You always know the right thing to do for me."

"Might be because I love you with all my heart, soul, mind and body. Because everything about you is precious to me. There's no better teacher than love. So yeah, I'm an expert." Blair smiled a little against Jim's shoulder.

"Feels so good to hold you. I needed this so bad."

"Me too, love, me too."

"Am I hurting you?" Jim asked quietly.

"This is the best medicine I could get. They oughtta bottle you," Blair concluded, grinning. Jim finally pulled back carefully, solicitously placing Blair's arm back on the pillow that supported it.

"Would you still...sleep upstairs?"

"I want that too. I just love being close to you."

"For the first time, since...since it happened, I feel like I can make it through this," Jim said, taking a hold of Blair's arm again, resuming his massage.

"We'll make it through together, Jim. You and me. We'll be okay."

"I know that now. For the first time...I really believe that."

"That feels _so_ good," Blair sighed, relaxing against the pillows and closing his eyes as Jim's strong, gentle hands worked their way up his arm. "Sometimes it just feels like a dead fish hanging there."

"It'll take some time to get the muscles back in action, but it'll get better quickly." Jim carefully moved to Blair's upper arm, coming close to the injury site on his shoulder. "Tell me if I get too close."

"No danger'a that, man," Blair quipped.

"You know what I meant, smart ass." The affection in Jim's voice softened any harshness of his words.

"You should call Marge."

"What?" Jim's hands froze mid-rub.

"If you really want to do something for Lindsay, try to put up with her mother, even if she _is_ a king-sized pain in the ass who's way out of line. Let her go through some of Lindsay's stuff. You know how you feel about Mandy. When this is all over, you're going to feel some real guilt if you don't give her another chance."

"I know you're right. I just don't like dealing with her again." Jim pulled the sleeve of Blair's sweatshirt back down to his wrist, having massaged up the arm as close to the incision as he dared.

"I know. Believe me, love, I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think it was going to bother you later."

"Okay. I'll go give her a call. Feel like you could sleep a while?"

"I _am_ pretty sleepy. Those damn pain pills really floor me."

"Let's get you comfortable, then I'll go call the old crocodile." 

"Jim," Blair chided as the other man carefully replaced the sling on his friend's arm and helped him slide back down to a prone position to nap. All Blair got in return was a devilish Ellison grin.

"Get some rest, baby. I love you." He leaned down and planted a little kiss on Blair's forehead.

"I love you too--so much." Blair smiled up at the larger man as he moved away toward the doors. "Now go make peace with the croco--I mean, Marge," Blair concluded, grinning. Jim returned it, and slipped quietly out the door.

* * *

Jim reached for the telephone, and was a bit startled when it rang before he picked it up. 

"Ellison."

"Jim, this is Marge. I have to talk to you. It's urgent."

"I was just about to call you. I'm sorry things didn't go well earlier--"

"This is more important. Oh, God, something horrible...please, come over, would you?" Her normally clear voice was shaking terribly.

"What is it?"

"Please, just come. I--I can't...you have to see it."

"I can't leave right now, Marge. I'm alone here with Blair. I have to get someone to come over--"

"Dear God in heaven, I don't believe this!! Even after she's murdered in her own bed, you can't give my daughter your undivided attention!"

"Marge, aside from the fact that Blair's recovering from multiple gunshot wounds and really shouldn't be left alone just yet, I'm guarding him. He's the only surviving witness."

"I thought you said he couldn't tell you anything."

"The killer doesn't know that. Please, try to calm down a moment. Are you in any immediate danger?"

"No, it's nothing like that--"

"Okay. I'm going to call headquarters and have a couple good friends of mine, Detectives Ryf and Brown, get over to your house right away. Then, if I can find someone to stay with Blair, I'll join them as soon as I can."

"Lindsay always has to take a backseat to that little hippie, doesn't she?" Marge snapped into the phone.

"I'll send Ryf and Brown to your address immediately. Good-bye, Marge." Jim broke his connection with Marge and called Ryf and Brown as promised. He also found out that Taggert was still in his office pushing papers, and was more than happy to duck out to the loft with his briefcase and catch up on some paperwork at the kitchen table.

When Jim stuck his head back into Blair's room, he smiled at the sight of a very peaceful, sleeping Blair. Resisting the urge to kiss him goodbye, Jim pulled the door shut quietly, hoping instead not to disturb the much-needed rest.

Arriving at the condominium complex where his mother-in-law lived, Jim spotted Ryf and Brown's car parked near her unit. He hurried up to the door and knocked. Brown let him in.

"Jim, you might not want to see this."

"What is it?"

"Someone sent Marge crime scene photos in the mail."

"Oh my God," Jim replied, running a hand the full length of his face. "Of...?"

"One was of Lindsay, and the other one was of the nursery. On the back, printed in black marker, was the message: 'Loose lips sink ships'. The sick bastard must have snapped photos at the scene."

"Is she all right?"

"Her doctor just got here before you did. He's sedating her."

"Get the photos down to the lab for prints. What did they come in? How were they delivered?"

"This is the mailer," Ryf held up a white cardboard photo mailer sealed in a plastic evidence bag. It was in her usual mail when she got home this afternoon. It looks like it was mailed, judging by the stamping and postmarks."

"This means the murders were related to Lindsay's father's testimony in the Brenner case. Shit. We've been going at this from the wrong damned angle from the outset." Jim paced a moment. "I'm just going to say a few words to Marge. Then I'll follow you back to headquarters so we can get that stuff tested."

* * *

"Joel?" Blair was surprised to find the captain perched at the table, poring over a rather lengthy report. Just having come to from a two-hour nap, Blair was a bit groggy, and has selfishly looked forward to migrating to the couch and snuggling against Jim.

"He lives!" Taggert quipped, smiling. "Jim had to go out a while, so he asked me to stick around and keep an eye on you."

"Thanks for coming back, man." Blair finally slumped on the couch, tugging the throw off the back of it, snuggling into it's folds.

"Your mail's on the coffee table," Joel advised, going back to his paperwork.

"Oh, great, thanks." Blair picked up the stack and curled up in the corner of the couch to sort through them. A large white photo mailer caught his attention. There was no return address, but is was post-marked from Tacoma. Curiosity piqued, he started to struggle with the seal on it. Opening mail with one hand was nothing short of a nightmare.

"Here, let me get that," Joel finally spoke up, having noticed the younger man wrestling with and cursing out the stubborn mailer.

"Thanks," Blair responded, smiling as he slid the contents out to have a look at them. His audible gasp brought Joel back to stand behind Blair, looking over his shoulder. 

There were two photos: one of Lindsay on the bed as she was found, and another of the nursery, with little Mandy still on the floor, next to Blair's own sprawled, bleeding body. On the back of the second photo was a simple, neatly-printed message in black ink: "I always finish what I start. See you soon."

Blair's hand shook as Joel carefully grasped the mailer and photos by the corner and pulled them away from him. Blair had never seen Lindsay's body--only heard the shots and imagined the worst. Jim had finally told him she was shot twice in the head. The photo in its gruesome reality was worse than any mental picture he had created. //And that's what Jim's been carrying around...no wonder he's had nightmares...// 

Most of the blood in the nursery was Blair's, ironically. There had been a small, spreading area of red on the light pink carpeting beneath little Mandy's body, but Blair had been bleeding profusely from his shoulder, chest and abdomen as he dragged himself to his backpack, trying to reach the phone before he lost consciousness again.

"Jim? Joel. You done over at Marge's?" Taggert's voice as he spoke to Jim on the phone startled Blair out of his daze. The one-sided conversation continued. "We've got the same thing over here. Sandburg just opened a little care package from our friend." There was a pause. "Yeah, I'll tell him." Joel hung up the phone and returned to sit on the other couch. "Jim said to tell you he's on his way. Ought to be here in about ten minutes, tops."

"Thanks," Blair replied blankly, realizing that his hand was still lying in his lap in the same position it had been in when Joel pulled the photos out of it. He wondered if the shock he felt creeping through him showed plainly on his face. It apparently did, because now the other man was babbling on about something, trying to reassure him and explaining how Lindsay's mother had gotten the same thing, how it was probably just a sick prank...

"...twenty-four hour guard. You've got nothing to worry about," Joel was concluding, while Blair realized he was simply staring straight ahead, as if catatonic. "Blair, you still with me?"

"Huh? Yeah, sort of," he replied honestly, pushing his hair back with his hand. "How could anybody...and to send them to her mother? Man, it doesn't get any sicker than that."

"This does change the face of the case. First off, it's pretty obvious that the hit was directed at Lindsay's family because of her father's testimony in the Brennan case. I was always surprised that family didn't get into the witness protection program. But her old man was determined that he wasn't going to let Brennan ruin his life," Joel referred to the white collar criminal whose fraudulent investment firm was responsible for millions in extorted funds. Brennan was thought to have ties to organized crime, but that element of the case had yet to be proven.

"So it wasn't about Jim..."

"If Jim had been in the house that night, he'd have most likely been killed too. It was a message to anyone else who might come forward and testify to the mob connections."

"This pretty much firms up that there _were_ mob connections," Blair responded, getting a little of his rational thought back.

"It does in terms of firming up our _theory_. But while this was done with the cold proficiency of a hired hitman, there's still nothing that ties it to the mob specifically. So they get the message out, and we still don't have any more concrete evidence. We've been searching the profiles of mob hitmen right along, but the problem is that a simple walk in and shoot scenario fits so many that it doesn't narrow things down much." 

"It was so fast..." Blair shivered, pulling the throw around his shoulders. "One minute, I thought I heard something...then Mandy started crying, and then the shots..." He bit his lower lip almost painfully to hold back the tears that threatened again. Seeing the photo of Lindsay, and of himself wounded next to Jim's dead child was almost more than he could take.

As if on cue, the front door opened and Jim burst through it, letting it slam behind him. Still wearing his leather gloves, he picked up the photos and shook his head. 

"Same set Marge got." He handed them to Joel.

"I'll get these down to the lab," Joel responded, heading for the kitchen table, where he quickly gathered his things, tossing his papers and the photos in his briefcase.

"Thanks, Joel. Give me a call when the results come in, huh?"

"You know it." With that, Joel grabbed his coat off the hook by the door and left.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Chief," Jim said gently, sitting on the edge of the couch next to Blair's legs. 

"It must have been awful...finding that," Blair managed as a tear slid down his cheek. Jim leaned forward and kissed it away.

"You know what kept me sane? I could hear your heartbeat."

"When he...came in the room? I...I asked him to...please not hurt Mandy...to let me put her down..." Blair choked on the last words and more tears flowed. Jim slid forward and carefully enclosed the shaking body in his arms.

"Did you just remember that, baby?" he asked gently, stroking Blair's hair, then pressing the other man's head more firmly against his shoulder.

"I...I couldn't remember...saying anything...but I did ask...I-I said...p-please don't hu-hurt her...I wanted...to put...her down in...her crib. God, Jim, she wasn't...going to be...a witness...or anything..." Blair worked hard to maintain his voice. "He had...something funny...in his walk...sort of a...l-limp." Blair shuddered again and huddled closer against Jim.

"Shhhh. I know. I know it hurts to remember, Chief." He kissed the top of Blair's head and rubbed his back gently, starting a slight rocking motion as Blair sobbed in his arms. "Those details...they'll help us. "What about his voice, huh? Anything unusual?"

"He didn't say anything...he just... Oh, God, Jim, he just... brought the...gun up and...and..." Blair trailed off again into tears, and Jim patted his back lightly.

"I'm right here, baby. Shhhh. They're just memories. It's all over."

"H-How...you f-found...us... That was...worse for you...because--"

"Listen to me," Jim said in a firm but gentle tone, "you went through a terrible trauma that night, too. Yeah, it was terrible for me, and something I'm never going to live long enough to completely forget. But that doesn't make what happened to you any less terrible. It's okay to react to this, Chief. You have a right to your own pain."

"I was so...scared," Blair choked out.

"I know. I can't even picture what you felt when you saw that bastard coming into the room."

"I tried...to protect her, Jim. I tried so...damned hard."

"You couldn't stop what happened. It's okay. It's not your fault. If this was a hit put out because of Lindsay's father's testimony, he would have killed Mandy no matter where she was in the house or who she was with. You didn't cause that...or fail her or me somehow by not stopping it. Just let it all out, it's okay. I'm right here, baby." Jim planted another kiss on top of Blair's head. "I love you so much."

Jim sat there a long time, the only sound in the silent loft being the occasional whistle of the wind, and Blair's soft sobbing against his chest. He knew how hard Blair had tried to be strong for him, since the first moment of regaining consciousness in the ICU. He'd grieved for Amanda and Lindsay, but he hadn't allowed himself to react to his own fear and pain and shock at his ordeal. When he felt the sobbing lessen, and Blair had calmed to no more than an occasional hiccup, Jim spoke again.

"How about I get a washcloth and wash your face, huh? Would that feel good?" There was a little nod and sniffle from his armload. "Okay. Sit tight." Jim carefully released him, and with a little caress to his hair, hurried into the bathroom to soak a washcloth with slightly cool water and returned with that, a towel and some tissues.

"I'm sorry," Blair said quietly as Jim resumed his seat close to his friend and handed him the tissues. When Blair was finished, Jim gently bathed his face with the cool washcloth, then toweled it dry.

"Don't apologize," he responded, leaning forward to kiss Blair's forehead.

"I should be taking care of you," Blair said, finally meeting Jim's eyes.

"You did that from a bed in ICU, Chief. The minute you woke up, you were taking care of me. You were there for me every step of the way, even when you weren't really strong enough. I wouldn't have made it through without you."

"Yeah, but you lost your family, and I'm sitting here crying about this--"

"Because you damn near got killed and someone you love was murdered right in your arms. Cut yourself a little slack."

"Do you think this was serious? The threat I mean?"

"I could tell you a lot of reassuring lies, but honestly, I think it is. This guy's probably a professional, and to have someone survive his attack makes him look bad, even if you can't ID him."

"Why do you think he didn't shoot me in the head? Just to be sure?" Blair was surprised to see Jim shudder visibly.

"I don't know. Maybe he assumed three bullets, all hitting you in the torso, would be sufficient. Maybe he was nervous because it was taking too long...hell, maybe he was a little unnerved by murdering a baby... I'm just grateful he didn't."

Continued in part three.


	3. Chapter 3

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 5 parts.

## A Million Pieces

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Continued from part two.

* * *

**A MILLION PIECES** \- part three 

by Candy Apple 

As expected, there were no prints on the photos except those of the recipients, and the mailers were peppered with prints, most likely from the recipients, the mail carriers and any postal workers who happened to handle them. Marge was put under police protection, on the chance that the killer would seek to wipe out the last of her husband's family.

Blair continued to improve, finally being freed of the sling and beginning the long, miserable process of physical therapy to regain full use of his left arm and a full range of motion in his shoulder. Both goals would take a great deal of hard work to reach.

At Blair's urging, Jim made an uneasy peace with his mother-in-law, and invited her to stop by the house one brisk December afternoon, as that was the day he was planning to begin the project of sorting Lindsay's and Amanda's things. Blair was convinced it was a bad idea for him to go along, but he didn't have the heart to refuse Jim's very genuine plea for him to do just that. 

The two men pulled up in front of the house early that morning, planning to pack up Jim's things and make some decisions about the general household items before tackling the really emotional issues.

"Are you okay with this?" Jim asked Blair, who had fallen very silent once the car had made the turn into the quiet, partially wooded subdivision.

"As okay as you are, probably," Blair answered honestly. 

"I can take you home. I had no right to pressure you into coming."

"I was more worried about Marge being upset than I was about coming back here. You know I'd've done that for you without a moment's hesitation."

"I know. Well, I guess we might as well get going. It won't get easier." Jim turned off the engine and hurried around the car to hover over Blair as he got out and made his way up the snowy driveway. The younger man was perfectly mobile now, but a slip and fall wouldn't do his healing shoulder or incisions a lot of good.

Jim approached the front door and turned the key in the lock, as he had done dozens of times before. They stepped into the foyer, hit by the iciness of a house that has been closed and vacant. 

"I'll crank up the heat." Jim ignored the internal chill that had nothing to do with the temperature and left Blair standing in the entry way while he walked into the living room with its fireplace, beamed ceilings...and Lindsay's paintings adorning the walls. Ignoring the barrage of memories and emotions being in the room brought back to him, Jim went directly to the thermostat and turned up the heat. The furnace roared on with a comforting hum.

"Seems weird to be here, doesn't it?" Blair asked, joining Jim near the fireplace, where photos of the ill-fated Ellison family were lined up on the mantel.

"It seems...real again. You know, the last few weeks, being at the loft, like before...it was almost as if...like I could pretend none of this happened."

"Where do you want to start?" Blair slipped his hand into Jim's as they stood there, not quite sure what to do first. 

"I love feeling that left hand of yours, Chief. Getting stronger every day." Jim squeezed it gently and waited while Blair made the effort of squeezing back. "I guess...the kitchen. Something neutral."

"Okay. Um, do you have any cartons left from the move?"

"In the garage. Come on." Jim led Blair to the kitchen where he left him sitting at the table while he went out the door to the garage and retrieved some nested empty boxes, still left neatly stacked from when they moved into the house.

"You want to pack everything, or leave some stuff?"

"Leave most of it. There are a few things that were wedding presents, stuff that was special to Lin. Some of that can go to her mother, too, but I want some of it. Like the punchbowl and the gold-edged glasses."

"Simon got you those, didn't he?"

"Yup. For our first anniversary." Jim opened an overhead cupboard in the deceptively cheerful green and white kitchen and removed the eight tumblers from the shelf. 

"I can wrap stuff if you get it down," Blair volunteered, rescuing some newspapers from the recycling bin near the back door.

"Great." Jim continued to scan the various shelves, leaving most things, but selecting a few glasses and cups here and there. Blair quietly stood at the kitchen table, wrapping Jim's selections and placing them in a carton. The process went smoothly until Blair noticed an unnatural stillness about his friend.

"Jim?" Blair laid the glass he was wrapping in the box and moved over to Jim's side. 

"This was...Lin's favorite mug," he managed through a painful catch in his voice. "Every morning..." Jim bit his lower lip and stood there holding the blue mug with the hand painted pink flowers on it, his body starting to tremble slightly with repressed tears.

"It's okay, Jim. This is going to be really hard today." Blair wrapped his arms around Jim from behind and laid his head against the broad back.

"I wish...I could just...talk to her one more time. I need to tell her that even though...it wasn't perfect, and there was someone else..." Jim trailed off and set the mug down so he could cover Blair's hands where they joined over his stomach. "I loved her, Blair. I should have told her more often."

"I'm sure she knew, love," Blair said gently.

"I spent...so damn much time being...pissed off about the things...she wanted me to do..." Jim gave up trying to explain himself and turned to pull Blair into his arms.

"The point is, you did 'em. And you didn't bitch at her about them."

"Bitched at you instead," Jim managed, trying to control tears that were insistent on escaping anyway. "I hate...being like this," he mumbled brokenly.

"Being like what, buddy? Grieving? There's nothing about crying that makes you weak, man. Nothing at all."

"I can't stop it," Jim moaned into Blair's hair, where he'd buried his face.

"Then don't try. I don't care what your father used to say, or the army, or whoever it was that told you that you shouldn't cry. It was a load of shit. You're grieving and it needs to come out. Just let it rip, love. I'm right here."

It was a few minutes before Jim calmed completely and pulled back from Blair, averting his eyes immediately until Blair took a hold of his chin and turned his face back so they were eye to eye.

"You don't have to hide from me, Jim." Blair pulled his favorite face down toward him and worked at kissing away the moisture there. "I love you, remember?"

"I remember," Jim said in a strained voice little above a whisper.

"Come on, try splashing a little water on your face. You might feel like a human being again." Blair encouraged him toward the sink as the larger man chuckled at his comment. After following Blair's directions, Jim smiled as his face was gently blotted dry with paper towel.

"I'm sorry about that," he finally said self-consciously.

"Jim, you can hold up for the rest of the world if you want to, but don't every apologize for crying with me, okay? Whatever you feel, just let it out, love. I don't care if it's grief or anger, or whatever. You don't have to keep up any big image with me. Because I couldn't love you any more or respect you any more than I already do. And that love is for Jim Ellison, the man--the human being. Not the supercop or the sentinel or the army ranger or whatever."

"I think that's the most beautiful thing anyone ever said to me," Jim replied softly.

"Just remember it. Think you're ready to pack up some more stuff?"

"I think I could probably do just about anything right now." Jim gave Blair a quick hug and then returned to selecting items out of the cupboard for the other man to wrap and pack.

The kitchen didn't take very long. Jim only saved a few wedding gift items, Lindsay's mug, Amanda's favorite cup and bib, and a small painting of a basket of apples Lindsay had done when they moved into the new house. Everything else could either be sold with the house or go to other members of Lindsay's family.

The living room took a bit longer, but again, Jim only saved sentimental items like photographs and a couple of his favorites of Lindsay's art. She had a very traditional style, and a real eye for painting landscapes that made you feel as if you could walk right into them. His personal favorites were a winter scene of the forest, with a solitary gray wolf standing among the barren trees and an ocean sunset.

Jim hauled the three cartons out to the truck and the paintings to Lindsay's car. He didn't want to risk exposing the artwork to the elements in the open bed of the pick-up. When he returned to the house, he found Blair standing at the beginning of the hallway, looking as if he were gathering the strength to move to the first room--the master bedroom.

"Let's at least make a walk through the house before Marge gets here. I want to be positive everything's been taken care of." Jim took a hold of Blair's hand and started toward the master bedroom. "You can wait in the living room if you want, Chief."

"No, I want to be with you."

"Okay. Let's do it." Jim walked assertively down the hall and into the bedroom.

The walls had been cleaned and freshly painted, the bed had been removed altogether. The carpeting had not been affected by the tragedy in this room. 

"You okay?" Blair asked, trying to fight his own memories, though he suspected his were much less vivid than Jim's, as he'd only seen Lindsay's body in the photo, and not in person. 

"Everything looks okay in here," Jim said tightly, moving into the room and scanning it for any items he wanted to remove before Marge arrived. "There are a few things I want that I don't want to fight her for. Think you could grab me one of the empty boxes in the kitchen?"

"Sure." Blair returned to the kitchen and located a couple of empty cartons and took them back down the hall. When he reached the master bedroom, Jim was going through the drawers of the large armoire, piling his clothes up on the floor next to it. "I can pack while you dig." Blair knelt on the floor with a carton and started packing the clothing Jim was dispatching to the floor. The first box filled quickly, and Jim was soon on to the next project, which was removing all his clothes from the closet.

"Should have brought suitbags, I guess," he observed as he hung his two suits and a few sport coats on the closet door.

"We can lay them in the trunk of Lindsay's car. You put the paintings in the back seat, right?"

"Yeah. Good idea. I can put them in on top of some other stuff. I might as well pack her car too. Then I can come back and get it tomorrow."

"I could drive it--"

"Not until that arm's a lot more flexible than it is, and the doctor tells you it's okay."

"Aye, Aye, Sir," Blair retorted, ducking just in time to miss a flying ball of wadded up underwear. "I s'pose you expect me to refold that."

"That's your job, Chief," Jim countered, smirking as he started filling a carton with his shoes, belts, ties, and other accessories. "Will you be okay in here if I take some more stuff out to the truck?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine, man. I've still gotta fold sweater mountain over here," Blair responded, smiling.

"Okay. Hey, you'd look cute in that blue one." And with that, Jim headed out for the car with a precarious stack of two cartons, leaving Blair to sit there holding the medium blue sweater, grinning.

Jim didn't come back in as soon as Blair had expected, so he got up and went to the window. Jim was standing in the driveway, talking to the neighbor across the street. Gabe and Angela Rojas had kept an eye on the Ellison house while it had been vacant, and it looked as if the two men were deep in conversation. Blair returned to his folding project, then began loading the last of Jim's clothes into the carton.

"Hello, Blair." A woman's voice startled him from his task. Marge stood in the doorway of the room. Dressed in a tan belted raincoat and dark pumps, she looked down her considerably sharp nose at the man sitting Indian-style on the floor next to a box of clothing.

"Marge. Hi. How are you?" Blair made what was a slow effort to get up, since he still was wary of his incisions and his left arm provided almost no assistance.

"As well as can be expected. I see you're recovering well," she added, leaving Blair uncertain if she considered that a blessing or a curse.

"It's slow going, but I'm doing better. My arm's still pretty weak."

"All things being considered, I suppose that's a small price to pay."

"Marge, no one wishes more than I do that either Lindsay or Mandy had been the one to survive that night. I'm so sorry for your loss, really I am."

"It certainly didn't take you long to take over." She walked over to the dresser and began looking over Lindsay's things on the top of it.

"I beg your pardon?" Blair was genuinely thrown by the remark, coming on the heels of his expression of sympathy.

"This all worked out rather well for you, didn't it? Not only was Jim suddenly free of his wife, but he didn't have the burden of his daughter, either." 

"I know this is difficult for you, Marge, but saying things like that to me isn't going to bring them back. God knows if I could think of a way to do that, I would. I would have died willingly to save Mandy. I tried. This is just the way things panned out."

"I find it curious that anyone survived that night. A gunman who shot my daughter twice in the head somehow didn't finish the job on you."

"Maybe when they catch him, you can get him to apologize for being a bad shot," Blair spat back angrily, throwing the sweater he'd been holding into the box at his feet with no small amount of rancor. He was at the end of his rope with this woman, and he sincerely hoped she'd back off before he said something truly unpleasant.

"Haven't the police found it curious that you were the only survivor?"

"If you have something to say, why don't you just say it?"

"You used my granddaughter as a shield, you bastard!" she shouted. "If she hadn't been in front of your chest you would have died! You might have sold everyone else on the idea that you tried to save her, but anyone who isn't biased in your favor can see the truth." 

Marge's bitter words hit Blair harder than he'd expected. He'd never used Amanda in any way to protect himself, and he had spent many hours wrestling with the guilt he felt over the fact that her body somewhat slowed the bullet that ended up in his chest.

"Marge, that's enough!" Jim's voice made the woman spin around to face her son-in-law. "I've tried to make allowances for your grief, but this is over the line. You have no right to make a bunch of hysterical, groundless accusations against Blair. There isn't one person involved in this investigation that would even consider the bizarre scenario you're outlining as a remote possibility."

"Of course not! They're all your friends! And his!" She gestured toward Blair. "This is nothing new, Jim. Lindsay has always been the very last of your priorities!"

"This has nothing to do with Lindsay! This has to do with you barging into my house and making a bunch of sick accusations against someone who stood ready to give his life for your granddaughter."

"But that isn't the way it turned out, is it?" Marge persisted. "A gunman enters this house, fatally wounds two people, and somehow, doesn't know enough to finish the job on the third?"

"So what is it you think I did? Hire somebody to shoot Jim's family? God, you can't possibly be serious!" Blair objected.

"Don't even dignify this whole situation," Jim barked back at Blair. "This ends now, Marge. I've tried to meet you halfway. I haven't wanted to hurt Lindsay's mother. But no more. I want you to leave, and I don't want you harassing Blair any further. I'll pack a few of Lindsay's and Mandy's things and ship them to you. But don't call the loft, don't call the house, and don't make the mistake of harassing me at work or I'll get a restraining order on you. Is that clear?"

"Oh, crystal clear. I didn't expect anything better from you." She spun on her heel and strode through the house angrily, with Jim hot on her heels.

"Well, you know, that's really funny, Marge, because I expected a hell of a lot better from Lindsay's mother!" Jim bellowed. Blair followed them into the living room, wondering if it was possible that they would actually come to blows. Marge had just pushed the final one or two of Jim's buttons, and that was never a wise thing to do.

"You expected me to give you the latitude my daughter did. She was in love with you, the poor, foolish girl! I'm not! I can see what you are, and most importantly, I can see that little...boy toy you keep on the side for just exactly what he is!" Marge swung the front door open and hurried down the two steps to the sidewalk, then to her Lexus, which was parked behind Jim's truck.

"Jim, let her go. Come on, man. You're better than that." Blair grabbed a hold of Jim's arm but the other man wrenched it away angrily and started out the door. Blair's grunt of pain stopped him.

"Blair? What's--oh, shit, did I do that?" Jim hurried over to where Blair stood in the doorway, holding onto his shoulder, wearing a pain-filled expression.

"I don't think it did any damage," Blair said, his voice a bit strained. "It just hurts. Feels like the muscles got pulled."

"I'm _so_ sorry, Chief. I was acting like an idiot. Come on. Let's sit down for a minute." He steered Blair to the couch and they sat close, side by side. "Can you move it? Should we go to the hospital?"

"Jim, it's okay. I haven't been moving it much, and it was just a faster move that I was ready for. It hurts like hell right now, but I'm sure it'll be okay."

"Damn her!" Jim shot up off the couch and started pacing again.

"I can't believe she really could think I would do something like that--using Mandy to protect myself. God, I tried to do just the opposite."

"I know that. So does everyone else. She's looking for a scapegoat. An available one. Since the shooter isn't here, she's picked you." Jim looked back at his friend sitting on the couch, still wincing and rubbing his shoulder. "You're sure we shouldn't go to the hospital?"

"I'd amputate it before I'd go back there again." 

"Chief, if you've re-injured--"

"I'll be okay, Jim. Let it go."

"I don't know what I was thinking, yanking my arm away like that," Jim said, sitting sideways next to Blair so he could examine the aching shoulder for himself. "You're breathing like a tractor, buddy."

"Well it hurt, dammit," Blair snapped back. "I'm sorry," he added immediately. 

"I don't think anything's damaged," Jim opined as he ran gentle fingers under Blair's shirt over the healing incision, his sense of touch on full alert. "If I had hurt you--"

"It was a knee-jerk reaction, man. You didn't do it on purpose." Blair relaxed a little as the fingers on his shoulder started carefully massaging it. "You're good at that," he said, grinning and tilting his head back against Jim's arm and the back of the couch.

The feeling of soft skin under his fingers, silky curls brushing his arm, Blair's head tipped back with an expression of pleasure on his perfect features...

Before Jim realized what he was doing, he had claimed Blair's mouth, his tongue demanding entry, his hand leaving Blair's injured shoulder and sliding down the mat of soft hair on his chest. He was fumbling with the buttons on Blair's shirt when the other man's hand came up and gripped his.

"Not here, man. I _so_ don't want to remember doing anything here. Please?" He watched as a shiver passed through the larger man.

"You're right. I'm sorry. You just looked so...perfect there...I kind of lost it."

"Jim, I don't look perfect. I'm in my old clothes, my hair looks like a poodle that got caught in a hurricane and...I've got gross scars." The last words were barely audible.

"Do you think for a second that your incision scars are going to gross me out?"

"They're really...disgusting-looking, man. _I_ don't even want to see me with my shirt off."

"Blair, look at me," Jim said softly, taking a hold of Blair's chin and turning his face slowly. "First, those scars will fade. It'll take a little time, but they won't always be so noticeable."

"I feel like Frankenstein," Blair grumbled, angry that a tear was sliding out of his eye. "Isn't that awful? I survive, and I'm so damn greedy that I want to be without scars--like before. That's so...vain."

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life. You know that."

"Okay, then listen to what I'm going to tell you. You're lucky in that you've got some hair there to cover things up. Any area they shaved for surgery is already growing back. When that's all back, you won't notice it so much. Then, you've got to remember that those scars were made by very fine, small surgical blades. Eventually, they'll heal to being thin lines--not big jagged marks. And the big thing is, I don't care if you have a third arm growing out of the middle of your chest. It wouldn't change how much I love you. Nothing could change that."

"How do you know so much about what they'll look like?"

"One thing you learn being in locker rooms with a bunch of cops is what bullet and surgery scars look like in all their stages of development. Yours aren't going to be ghastly, Chief. They'll get better. Now, about your hair and that poodle comment--"

"I didn't put any conditioner in it. I got too tired so I let it go. So that's why it looks like this," Blair explained, pulling at one of the frizzy strands.

"I'd love to fix your hair sometime," Jim said honestly, not really having planned to make that statement. Blair looked a little surprised, but then he smiled.

"Really?"

"I always loved your hair." Jim slid his hand up to cup the back of Blair's head, getting his hand completely immersed in the curls. "I love the way it smells," he said, nuzzling with his nose, "and feels, and the way it's going to fall across your face when I make love to you." Jim locked hot eyes with Blair's own startled orbs. 

"This isn't the place...I don't want to--"

"I know. I don't want to do anything here either. It doesn't feel right. But that doesn't change what I want. I hope you want the same thing."

"You know I do," Blair responded, a little breathlessly. "Look, why don't we get this job over with so we can go home and put this behind us, huh?"

"Okay. How's your shoulder?"

"Still sore, but better. I can still do some packing duty."

Jim selected a few personal items from the myriad of jewelry, clothing, shoes and accessories that Lindsay had amassed. The other items were packed carefully and neatly in cartons that would be stacked up in the garage. Marge had agreed the clothing should go to charity, while she would like to have the chance to sort through any of Lindsay's personal effects that Jim didn't keep.

"I can do the nursery on my own, Chief. You don't have to go in there."

"No way, man. This is a joint project all the way."

The two men collected a couple of empty cartons and made their way to the room they had both last visited in their nightmares. Blair couldn't hold back a sharp intake of breath.

The pink carpeting had been removed and replaced with a neutral beige. Everything else was in place, including Mandy's crib.

"I...I can't do this," Jim backed partway out of the room. Memories of the hundreds of times he'd gone into Mandy's room to comfort his fussy daughter flooded over him, along with the visions of the hundreds of times he'd just gone in to watch her sleep, marveling at what a beautiful little miracle she was.

"I'll do it," Blair announced, startling even himself. But for Jim, he could be that strong.

"But you--"

"But nothing. Take this carton and go get any of the stuff you want out of the bathroom, and the linen closet."

"Blair, how can--"

"I love you, Jim. I could do anything for you. Now go pack that other stuff. I'll take care of this stuff. I'll put everything in the boxes and then you can sort it later. Okay?"

"Okay. Thank you," Jim said quietly, unable to figure out any way to put into words the gratitude he felt at Blair's willingness to take on what was, for him, an unbearable task. 

Blair faced his task with grim determination. If he had learned one thing from his years of education and numerous research projects, it was the self-discipline to tackle a task that seemed insurmountable and accomplish it.

Ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder, he began opening the drawers of the chest with the padded top which served as Mandy's changing table. He closed off his emotions to the best of his ability, loading the box with the tiny, soft garments suitable for a four-month old baby. 

//Most of this stuff can go for charity. Might as well put all the stuff Jim probably won't want to keep in one box, and the special stuff in the other.// Blair worked diligently at keeping his mind occupied with mundane thoughts like these, keeping his back to the crib and the rocker, and especially the doorway, which in his mind was filled with the silhouette he'd never live long enough to forget.

He stopped cold when he picked up a small, handmade dress made of soft, natural fibers that he'd had made for Mandy by an elderly Navajo Indian lady who was the grandmother of one of his students. It was brand new. Mandy wouldn't have grown into it for another two or three months yet. //So much development in that tiny little body in less time than it would have taken me to complete the semester of classes at the U.//

Jim heard the odd choking noise, and then the sobbing coming from the nursery. It was muffled with something, but it was very audible to his sensitized hearing. He stood there staring at the half-packed carton of toiletries and towels, wishing he could make his legs move in the direction of the nursery to comfort Blair. But he could no more make himself face that room than he could think of something to say that would truly make Blair feel any better. They both had a certain amount of grief that just had to play itself out. And maybe Blair would feel freer to wallow in his own for a few minutes if Jim wasn't there, making him feel somehow that he should turn the tables and comfort the father who had lost his child.

Blair finally gathered the strength to settle the spasmodic sobs that had taken control of him. He looked at the little dress in his hands and folded it again carefully, laying it in the box of things that might be keepsakes. He planned to ask Jim if he could keep that one item himself.

Having emptied the drawers and the small closet quite quickly, Blair pushed the two cartons into the hall with his foot, depositing them finally in the living room. 

"You need help with the bathroom?" Blair asked, making Jim realize how long he'd spent just staring at one of Lindsay's large barrettes.

"Almost done," he replied, tossing it into the smaller box of items he planned to keep.

"Anything in the guest room?"

"Lindsay used the closet for storage, since we didn't have a basement. It's mostly cartons and a few odds and ends."

"How about her studio?" Blair referred to the small fourth bedroom where Lindsay did all of her painting.

"I told her sister she could have anything out of the studio she wanted. She's coming from Seattle next week to go through that stuff. She said she'd pack up anything she wasn't taking and either dispose of it or give it away for me."

"Given how her mother feels--"

"Renee was never as hard to get along with as Marge. She's a nice person. You met her at Christmas last year." Visiting with Blair seemed to get Jim moving again, and he quickly filled up the rest of the cartons of the bathroom items and closed the flaps.

"Yeah, I remember her. She seemed a lot like Lindsay."

"She is. I guess the girls took after Dirk," Jim commented, referring to his late father-in-law. "I've only got a couple boxes of stuff in the spare room. The rest is Lindsay's old things--typical basement stuff. I'll just ship those to Marge and let her sort it all out. I think Lindsay had some of it when she lived at home--we're talking junk here."

" _Memorabilia_ , Jim. Not junk." Blair was smiling a little.

"Sorry. I'll let Marge sort the _memorabilia_ then."

* * *

It was getting dark by the time Jim finally loaded the last of the items into the back of the pick up. Returning to the house to make a last sweep and to check the doors, he found Blair standing, as if transfixed, in the doorway of the nursery.

"Hey, Chief. Time to go," Jim said quietly, staying at the end of the hall so as not to startle the other man.

"It was getting dark like this...there was a light in the kitchen...kind of like now."

"Blair, come on, buddy. This isn't solving anything." Jim took a gentle hold of Blair's shoulders from behind. 

"Marge was right, you know. It's really ironic. I was trying to shield Mandy and she ended up..." Blair swallowed hard and then finished his sentence, "shielding me."

"Listen to me, and for once, hear me." Jim enclosed the smaller body in his arms from behind, resting his cheek against Blair's hair. "This was a message killing...a mob hit. I know we don't have proof of that, and we most likely never will. I haven't given up on finding the shooter, but I _am_ realistic enough to know that the really good hitmen don't get caught very often. What all this has to do with you is that Mandy was going to die no matter what you did that night. He didn't kill her because she was a witness or because she was in your arms. He killed her because she was part of a message...a-a sign to anyone who thought about testifying. A message that no one was safe, and nothing was sacred, if you shoot off your mouth."

"But if she hadn't been in front of my chest--" Blair started, his voice breaking again.

"You'd be dead now too. The only difference was that Mandy would have been shot in another location. God, Blair, there was no hope for any of you, the way this went down. This son of a bitch was a professional. Only a real pro would be arrogant enough to walk into a suburban home at dinner time and shoot everyone in it, and then calmly walk away. Only the neighbors behind us heard something, and they thought it was a car backfiring." Jim fell silent a moment, reaching up to brush away the tears on Blair's face. "You know, baby, what happened was the very best outcome that was possible. By some... wonderful accident, you survived. And if my little girl had to..." Jim fought his own emotions, and then continued, "If my little girl had to die, at least she didn't die alone or frightened. She died in the arms of someone who loved her like his own child. The last thing her eyes saw was your face, not the face of the man who killed her."

"Let's get out of here. I never want to see this place again," Blair stated in a strained, husky voice.

"Come on. Time to go home, buddy." Jim guided Blair to turn around and together, they walked down the hall toward the living room. "Lights out, doors locked. I guess this is it." Jim opened the front door for Blair.

* * *

Jim transferred many of the cartons he'd taken from the house to the storage area belonging to the loft in the basement of the building. He realized as he hauled the relatively few cartons of his own belongings into the elevator how little he had invested in his married life. He had left a considerable amount of stuff stored in the basement and many personal effects in the loft. Blair never prodded him to come and get them, and it gave Jim some small comfort emotionally to know they were there...as if it was still partially his home.

Blair was asleep on the couch when Jim finally finished settling the last of his clothes into drawers and the closet upstairs. Jim smiled when he noticed that the other man was wearing the blue sweater Jim told him would look cute on him. Quietly seating himself on the coffee table, Jim realized what an understatement that was. Yes, there was something endearing about the sloppy way it fit the smaller body, but Jim knew when those incomparable blue eyes opened, the sweater would set them off like the rare sapphires they were.

It was a little after ten. Seemed like a good time to turn in, as far as Jim was concerned. They'd had a tiring day, both physically and emotionally, and the thought of cuddling with Blair in the big bed upstairs was more than a little appealing.

"Time for bed, Chief," Jim whispered, carefully scooping the sleeping body into his arms. Blair's face looked troubled a moment, and then his eyes opened slightly. "Ready to turn in?" Blair just nodded, and dropped his head on Jim's shoulder, letting his eyes drift shut again. The stupor meant Blair had taken another pain pill, which he had been trying to quit. Jim felt no small guilt at having given him reason to do that. 

Blair seemed to have dozed off again by the time Jim made it upstairs with him. He gently laid him on the bed and began the task of undressing the limp body that offered no resistance, but no help, either. By the time he got to the jeans, and was wrestling with how to get them off smoothly, he caught sight of a devilish grin on Blair's face, though his eyes were still closed. Jim had been so intent on his task of disrobing the much-desired body on the bed, he hadn't even tuned in to the fact Blair was bluffing.

"If you weren't still recuperating, you'd pay for that." Jim was trying to keep the smile out of his voice and off his face. "Lift up your butt."

"Are you always such a smooth-talker, Ellison?" Blair obeyed and the jeans were removed fairly easily, neatly folded to join his other clothing on the foot of the bed. 

"Don't be a smart ass, Sandburg." Jim moved the stack of clothes over to a chair in the corner of the room. "I might have to teach you a lesson."

"Oooh, I'm shakin' here, man!" Blair taunted.

"You're not that sick anymore, Chief. I could still give your butt a good warming without injuring you." Jim started undressing, grinning with his back turned to Blair. It was taking the other man a moment to process that thought, and to decide if he liked the idea. The thought of Blair's naked rear upturned in his lap gave Jim tingles in all the right places. Of course, he knew he'd never have the heart to hit him. Possibly give him a life-threatening number of butt-hickeys, but never a spanking.

"That's police brutality, man. I'll file charges," Blair countered. 

"You'll have to fill out the forms standing up." Down to his boxers, Jim returned to the bed to find Blair still sprawled as he'd been left, on top of the comforter. "Come on, lazy ass." Despite the harsh words, Jim slid his arms under Blair and picked him up again.

"How're you gonna turn back the bed, tough guy? With your foot?"

"Nope. But first I'm going to kiss you silly because I'm real tired of listening to you talk." Jim covered Blair's mouth with his own, leading them into a prolonged kiss. When they finally parted for air, Jim put Blair back on his own two feet and gave him a playful swat on the butt before turning back the bed.

"You really want to spank me?" Blair asked, genuinely curious.

"I just did. Told you it'd be bad. Now get in."

"Oh, yeah, man, that was brutal," Blair responded through a loud yawn, as he crawled under the covers. 

"I can see you were really aroused by it," Jim said sarcastically, laughing a little.

"And truly scared," Blair added, snuggling closer and throwing a leg over Jim's. Another jaw-expanding yawn followed.

"I'm sorry I hurt your shoulder, sweetheart. I didn't mean to." Jim stroked the offended shoulder lightly.

"What did you used to call Lindsay?"

"What do you mean?"

"You just called me 'sweetheart'. I was just wondering if, you know, that was different, or if that's what you called her and Carolyn."

"I called Lindsay either Lin, or sometimes Linny, or honey, I guess. Carolyn? Carolyn, usually. She found pet names to be demeaning. I called her 'baby' once, and she just about flew out the window, she was so pissed off. You'd think I'd called her 'bitch' the way she went up one side and down the other." Jim exhaled loudly, then smiled. "But you, Blair Sandburg, are my one and only sweetheart."

"I like that."

"Good. Because you're stuck with it. And me."

"I hope so. For good."

"But I meant what I said before. I _am_ sorry about hurting your shoulder. You haven't had to take a pain pill for a couple days now."

"It wasn't just that. I _way_ overdid it today, which is my own fault, not yours." 

"Thanks for being with me today. I'm sorry you had to hear that crap from Marge."

"It's okay. She's hurting, Jim. Grief drives some people crazy. Let's face it, she _is_ right about our relationship."

"She's right that I want to be with you. As far as us having some kind of wild, steamy affair while I was married--"

"I didn't say she wasn't taking it in some extreme directions, but basically, she's accusing us of being lovers, which we're working on, even though I'm not really up to doing anything major, and I don't think either one of us is really ready emotionally."

"But soon. I want that with you, Blair."

"So do I, love."

"Do you think Lindsay would be pissed off at me or happy for me?"

"A little pissed off, probably. But she was a good person. I think ultimately, she'd want you to be happy, even if she was a little jealous that you'd had feelings for me before."

"It's so strange. I loved her. I really did. And I miss her sometimes--her laugh, her voice...sitting in the living room, hearing her singing to Mandy in the nursery...the way she used to swirl into the room doing an exaggerated modeling job when she got a new outfit. And I regret so much the times she tried to knock down a few walls and share something with me and I wouldn't let her."

"You were sharing it with me instead."

"Or not with anyone at all. In any event, I shut her out so many times, and I was always thinking about where I'd rather be. We could have been really good friends if we hadn't been married."

"That's the story for a lot of couples out there."

"Go to sleep, sweetheart. You sound so tired." Jim kissed Blair's hair and squeezed him a little tighter. "I love you."

"Love you too. 'Night, Jim."

"Goodnight, Chief. Sleep tight."

Jim was awake a while after Blair fell back into a sound sleep. He was reassured and kept company by the steady thudding of the heart beating against his chest. Blair was peaceful for once, not stirring with nightmares. Jim fervently hoped that maybe they'd passed a turning point at the house that day. Faced some demons head on and exorcized them. 

He looked down at the scar on Blair's shoulder. It wasn't very large, really. It would probably always show a bit more than the others, because it marred a couple inches of smooth skin before disappearing into a normally hair-covered area. So little did scars matter. Jim hoped Blair really understood that.

The object of his attentions stirred and mumbled a little, the only distinct word being his name.

"Right here, baby," Jim whispered into the soft curls. The sound of his voice had the desired effect, and Blair settled again.

//Now if we can just get the bastard who did this off the street so he's safe for good...// Jim thought to himself as he made a final auditory sweep of his surroundings before satisfying himself all was secure, and drifting off to sleep.

* * *

The phone was ringing. Blair sat up groggily in the big bed and groped around discontentedly for his bedmate. Then he heard Jim's voice on the phone. Looking at the clock, Blair groaned out loud. It was already eight. At ten, he had a physical therapy appointment. He smiled when he remembered that today was also the day that Jim was going to talk to the therapist about teaching him what needed to be done yet with Blair's shoulder. Blair really did trust Jim's judgement more, since his sentinel touch was much more accurate at gauging how much stress Blair's muscles really could take without painful pulls and spasms.

It had been a week since they cleaned out the house, and now Christmas was coming. Jim had faced the festivity of the season with his usual quiet stoicism, putting up with the countless TV ads featuring babies in their red velvet finery for portrait package specials, families around trees opening gifts. He'd even gone along with the delegation of cops who took toys to an area homeless shelter.

Jim was still on leave from the department, planning to return to work after the first of the year. He had already spoken to Simon about returning to his old job, and was wrestling through the paperwork and red tape to make that happen. When it did, his observer/consultant would be right by his side.

"...and try to calm down, Renee. These letters were from Angelo DiMarco?" Jim's voice carried upstairs, and Blair crawled to the head of the bed and looked over the railing to see Jim, standing there in his boxers, talking into the cordless phone. Figuring he had to be cold on such a frigid winter morning, Blair climbed out of bed and after pulling on his own heavy robe, picked up Jim's and padded down the steps to drape it over the broad shoulders. Jim moved awkwardly to get into it as Blair held it, and then pulled the smaller man against the side of his body, rubbing his back in long, slow strokes.

"I never went through Lin's desk drawers. I don't know what she kept in there," Jim informed Renee, Lindsay's sister. "Why don't you tell me what the letters said?" Another long wait. Blair lost interest in the conversation, letting the hand on his back relax him as he wrapped his arms around Jim's waist and soaked up the big man's body heat.

"Look, give me about an hour--oh, wait. Blair's PT is this morning..." Another wait. "Put the letters in an envelope, sealed, and drop them off to Simon Banks in Major Crimes at police headquarters. Let him know what they are, so he'll put them somewhere safe. I'll head over there as soon as I'm done at the hospital." Another wait, more of the luxurious back rubbing that was making Blair purr like a kitten, and a few nods as Jim listened to the voice on the other end of the line. Then he smiled.

"He's doing great, Renee. We've still got some work to do on that arm, but he's coming along nicely." Another brief pause. "I will. Thanks. I'll call you back after I've had a chance to read over the letters. Talk to you later." Jim hung up the phone. "Good morning," he said, smiling and swooping down for a long kiss.

"Renee found something interesting at the house?"

"Letters. Apparently, about three years ago, Lindsay was involved with Angelo DiMarco."

"Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Because the DiMarco family is one of the leading crime families in the Pacific Northwest. I don't know why Lindsay would hang around with a jerk like that."

"Has Angelo himself ever been arrested for anything?"

"Possibly not. But still...that'd be like one of us dating Charles Manson's daughter, and not worrying about her family background."

"That bad, huh?"

"The DiMarco family has probably been responsible for more 'you'll-never-find-the-body-in-a-million-years' homicides than any crime family on the West Coast. I can't even picture Lindsay getting tangled up with one of them. She had to know what they were into."

"Why? I didn't. I mean, if I met one of them on the street, I wouldn't automatically know they were bad news. The name wouldn't have done anything for me either."

"Well, maybe the letters'll be self-explanatory." Jim turned and pulled Blair tightly into his arms. "Better get dressed, Chief. Today's the day I try to get you sprung from the dungeon master."

"You don't think that Lindsay...you know, was involved in anything...?" Blair didn't know how to ask, but he wanted to know.

"No, I don't," Jim responded, shaking his head. "At least not knowingly. What some slimeball could have drawn her into might be another story."

Blair's physical therapist was more than cooperative in coaching Jim on what he could do to work with Blair at home. Agreeing that the patient was well on his way back to normal, the pleasant middle-aged woman who had worked through the early stages of movement with Blair didn't see any reason for him to continue coming to the hospital if there was someone at home willing to participate in therapy.

Spirits lifted by leaving the hospital for the last time for anything connected to the shooting, they headed over to headquarters, where both were greeted with warm enthusiasm by their friends and co-workers who hadn't seen Jim since the funeral, and in many cases, hadn't seen Blair since before the shooting.

Jim tapped on Simon's door and stuck his head in.

"Jim! This is a surprise. Thought you were taking leave until after the new year."

"Didn't Renee Stanton drop off some letters here?" Jim asked, entering the office with Blair on his heels.

"Hey, Sandburg, you're looking healthier."

"Thanks, Simon," Blair responded, smiling.

"No, I haven't seen Lindsay's sister since the funeral," Simon responded to Jim's question. "Was she supposed to come in here?"

"She called me from the house...my house. She was going through some of Lindsay's things in her studio, and she found some letters from Angelo DiMarco. I guess it sounded like they were pretty involved, from what Renee said on the phone this morning. Blair had his last PT appointment this morning, so I told her to bring them over to you for safekeeping until I could get back here to have a look at them."

"She hasn't been here, Jim. What time was that?" Simon seemed to be concerned now, and the other two men were as well. 

"About eight this morning." Jim checked his watch. "Shit, it's after eleven."

"I'll send a couple units over there right away."

"I'm right behind them," Jim said, taking off out the door before Simon could object.

Jim and Blair arrived at the same time as two uniformed officers. Jim directed them to cover the back while he went in the front. Blair refused to wait in the truck, taking his usual place at Jim's side while the larger man unlocked the door, then entered with his gun in hand. Renee's car was still in the driveway, which did not bode well for her fate.

"Renee?" He used his free hand to push Blair behind him, just in case there was any negative response to his call. "Renee?" He tried one more time, then started for the kitchen. "Oh, God," he muttered as he spotted a woman's legs, the rest of the body obscured by the island in the kitchen. "Go outside and tell the others to call it in. Get an ambulance just in case." Jim gave Blair a little nudge, and the younger man hurried out of the house to follow the instructions.

Upon closer scrutiny, Jim found his sister-in-law had been killed much in the same manner in which Blair had been shot. It appeared that two bullets had hit her, one in the chest, and one in the abdomen.

Blair headed Mrs. Rojas off at the end of the driveway. The older, heavy-set woman had rushed out at the sight of the police cars arriving.

"What's happened?" she asked Blair. There was little point in hiding it. What few neighbors were home through the day were already migrating out to their porches to investigate. 

"Lindsay's sister is dead," Blair said simply.

"Renee? Oh, dear God! I just talked to her this morning. Gabe and I went over there when we saw a car we didn't recognize, and we talked to her a few minutes. How...?"

"I don't know all the details yet. We just found her. Ah, Jim'll probably want to talk to you and your husband."

"That poor man. Another tragedy...and Lindsay's mother...Oh! I can't even imagine what she's living through." Mrs. Rojas shook her head and looked sadly over at the Ellison house, where Jim was finally coming out the front door and heading toward them.

"Did you or Gabe see or hear anything unusual?" Jim asked, having tuned into the conversation as soon as he spotted Blair with the neighbor.

"No. I was just telling Blair--we went over to see who was there, and talked to Renee a few moments--oh, she was such a lovely person," Mrs. Rojas commented. 

"But after that--did you see anyone else coming or going?"

"Just the truck--one of those U-Move-It rentals."

"When was this?"

"About ten o'clock this morning," she replied, watching the arrival of the crime lab team and the coroner, as well as the very unnecessary ambulance.

"Did you see who was driving it?"

"No. I just looked out and noticed it parked there. I guess it was a little after ten when I saw it. Then, when I looked out again, it was gone. I thought it was awfully fast...you know, to load and be gone that quickly."

"How long was it there--in your estimation?"

"Well, it couldn't have been more than half an hour, because after I saw it, I went into the family room out back to call my sister. We talked a while, and I always watch the time--long distance is expensive, you know. Anyway, we talked for about thirty minutes and then I went back into the living room, and when I glanced out the window, the truck was gone. I was a little surprised by that."

"Okay. Thanks, Angela. I'll be in touch."

"You take care now, Jim. I'm so sorry...something so awful to happen so soon after..."

"Thanks. I appreciate you and Gabe keeping an eye on things. Where is he, anyway?"

"He's over at Ana's place. She has some furnace troubles," Mrs. Rojas explained, referring to her daughter.

"He wasn't here at all while the truck was here?"

"No. He left early this morning. They're still waiting for the repairman to show up. You know how that is," she concluded, rolling her eyes.

"Only too well," Blair spoke up, smiling a little. The last time he'd waited for one at the loft, he'd finished grading two classes' worth of essay exams and made dinner before the man arrived.

On the way back to headquarters, Blair finally broke the silence.

"You okay, man?"

"Yeah, I'm all right." Jim exhaled loudly. "I'm going to ask Simon to let me in on this. Enough is enough. This case isn't progressing, and now Renee's dead."

"You're personally involved. What makes you think--"

"Dammit, Blair, this case isn't moving! It's been almost a month since the murders and there's been nothing. Squat! The only thing I've gotten was from Renee and now she's dead too."

"I wonder why they didn't come after us? I mean, we were there all day, going through the house."

"It had to be the phone call. Hell, it could be the safety in numbers principle. The day we were there, the garage door was up, and with Lindsay's car in the garage and the truck in the driveway, and Gabe Rojas stopping over, and then Marge, and two of us visible at various times...plus, I'm a cop, which might put them off a little...but I still think it was the phone call. Otherwise, why kill Renee when it was entirely possible that we already had the letters?"

"Unless Renee told someone what she was doing today, and they weren't on the up and up."

"Then they'd have to know where the letters were kept, and that would be a damn small circle. I lived there and _I_ didn't know she had letters from Angelo DiMarco in her desk."

"She probably figured you'd freak, being a cop."

"Which would mean she'd have to know what DiMarco was into. Furthermore, she had to be pretty hung up on him if she kept his letters after she got married."

"She knew you didn't go through her stuff or anything. She probably wasn't worried."

"The studio was her world. I never had a reason to go in there unless Lin was in there or wanted to show me something."

"Who else could have known about Angelo, or where the letters were?"

"Marge, possibly. I don't think Renee herself did before today because she was so shocked by it, and because she was turning them over to me--or planning to."

"What about best friends? Lindsay had some close friends, didn't she?"

"Sharon Larson would be my best guess. They had been friends for a few years before I met Lin."

"So during the time she was involved with DiMarco--"

"Sharon would have known all about that. Possibly known DiMarco."

"Did Lindsay ever say how she met Sharon?"

"They met in an art class Lin took evenings."

"So when Sharon came over, she probably spent time in Lin's studio with her?"

"Yeah, usually. Sharon would show up, say hello, and then she and Lin would disappear for about three hours into the studio. They did one or two paintings together, but I think mostly they just talked."

"Where is Sharon now?"

"She works for Innovations--it's an ad agency downtown. She's probably there now."

"We could go talk to her."

"I want to get this cleared up with Simon first. But no matter how that goes, I'm going to be the one to question Sharon. I think we might be onto something."

Simon made all the predictable objections to Jim's involvement in the case, and flatly refused to let him take it over entirely.

"With all due respect, Simon, this case hasn't moved forward since Lindsay and Amanda were killed," Jim stated. He was all done politely requesting to be allowed a role in the investigation. Those who _were_ handling it hadn't exactly been impressive in their performance.

"You know we haven't spared the manpower or the hours in working this case, Jim." Simon sat back in his chair, obviously frustrated. "Whoever did this didn't leave prints, and the one witness he did leave didn't see his face."

"But we know he's a big guy who's left-handed and walks with a slight limp," Blair added in his own defense. "How many big, left-handed, limping hitmen can there be out there?"

"Probably not many. But this one might not be part of our database. Let's face it, guys. The elite hitmen don't have files at the local PD. Just the ones who have been indiscreet enough to build a reputation on the streets. The best--the ones who operate like this one-- aren't easy to track down."

"Simon, he murdered my wife and daughter, and then showed back up again at the same house in frigging daylight and blew away my sister-in-law. Then calmly got back in a rental truck and drove away." Jim paced back and forth in front of Simon's desk, while Blair sat perched on the end of the table, watching him. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand how this son of a bitch can do this while we all sit here wringing our hands."

"Putting you on this case goes against every rule in the book, Jim. You're so personally involved that you're a textbook example of who _shouldn't_ be assigned to the case."

"So turn your head then and let us do this," Blair spoke up, uncharacteristically assertive. He normally deferred to Jim when points of police procedure were being argued, but not this time. It was a waste of valuable time to sit here while Simon expounded on why they _shouldn't_ work the case. It was time to cut to the chase.

"You know, Sandburg, not all rules were made to be broken."

"Yeah? Well, I wasn't supposed to have Jim's daughter murdered in my arms, either, but it happened. And whoever did that is still running around out there, killing at will. Quite frankly, it looks to me like a hell of a lot more important rules are being broken while we're sitting around here, agonizing over what it says in some dusty old procedures manual!" And with that, Blair slid off the end of the table and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

To say Simon was startled was an understatement. Jim stared after Blair, equally stunned.

"He's right, Simon. This is ridiculous. When are you going give me the green light to do what I do best, huh?"

"Jim, I can't give you my blessing to be involved in this case. First of all, you're in Vice at the moment, and the only way I could justify your involvement would be to say you had a personal interest in the case, which is in itself a violation of procedure. I'm stuck, man."

"Come on, Simon. Help me out here."

"Jim, you know I've always backed you when I could. But this is--"

"This is a little trickier, but not impossible." Jim watched the other man intently, seeing the progression of resistance into compliance playing out on his face.

"If you have some angle you want to work, do it. But keep me informed of anything you come up with. I'll have to do the paperwork or make any official requests from the lab, or whatever the case may be."

"Thank you, Simon."

"What's your take on Renee Stanton's death?" Simon settled back in his chair as Jim proceeded to fill him in on the discovery of the body, his discussion with Angela Rojas, and his and Blair's theory about Sharon Larson or the possibility of someone knowing of the existence of the letters and where they were kept, then killing Renee because she was cleaning out the studio. There was also the possibility of the phone having been tapped, which Simon agreed to have checked immediately, at both the loft and the Ellison house.

Finished with his meeting with Simon, Jim started out in search of Blair. He found the younger man slumped in the passenger seat of his truck in the parking garage.

"Are you nuts?" Jim's angry question made Blair jump. "What the hell's the matter with you coming out here and sitting by yourself? Are you trying to get your head blown off?"

"I'm in the police garage, Jim. Who's going to shoot me in here?"

"I think we've established that this isn't necessarily sanctuary from the criminal element of Cascade." Jim started up the engine.

"Are you just going to bawl me out or are you going to tell me what happened in there?"

"Until this is settled, I don't want you pulling any more stunts like this--is that clear?"

"Don't start giving me orders like I'm some stupid kid. I'm an adult, in case you hadn't noticed."

"You wouldn't know it by how you're acting. There's a crazy son of a bitch out there shooting my family one by one. In case you didn't know it, you're probably at the top of his list." Jim pulled out onto the street.

"Jim, I think you're going a little over the edge here. I came out to wait for you in the truck. I didn't run up and down the street with a bullseye on my head."

"Same difference, right now."

"All right. I'm sorry I went somewhere without your permission."

"Now you're being a smart ass. God, I hate it when you do that."

"And I hate it when you order me around, but that doesn't stop you from doing it."

"I'm sorry as fucking hell that I care if you get your head blown off. I'll try to remember to mind my own goddamn business."

Silence reigned for a few tense moments.

"I'm sorry I took off like that. You're right. It was a risk," Blair finally said, in a very genuine tone. He could see the ice sculpture in the seat next to him melt almost visibly.

"I'm sorry I jumped down your throat. There were just a few minutes there where I couldn't find you...and you _are_ still in danger. I didn't mean to talk down to you."

"Still friends?" Blair asked, grinning.

"Better be more than that," Jim shot back, and as they slowed at the stop light, leaned over and pulled Blair in for a fast but effective kiss right on the lips. "You're cute when you turn pink like that." Jim laughed a little, patting Blair's cheek before taking off from the rather crowded intersection.

Blair sat there stunned, unable to believe he'd just been kissed on the mouth by Jim Ellison in the middle of a busy intersection. Would wonders never cease?

Continued in part four.


	4. Chapter 4

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 5 parts.

## A Million Pieces

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Continued from part three.

* * *

**A MILLION PIECES** \- part four 

by Candy Apple 

Innovations Advertising occupied the entire top floor of an old office building in downtown Cascade. It was among many businesses to participate in the "gentrification" of the older part of Cascade's business district. In Jim's assessment, that meant it was a car thief's paradise: an oasis of overpriced luxury cars parked in a high crime area.

Sharon Larson welcomed Jim and Blair with friendly greetings and offers of coffee, which both refused with thanks. Once they were seated in her attractively appointed office, which made the most of the Victorian-era architecture and woodwork of the building, Jim tried to launch their discussion in a tactful manner. He also didn't want Sharon to feel that she was suspected of anything.

"I'm not sure if anyone else from the department has been to see you yet," Jim began. The pretty brunette tucked a stray lock of curly hair behind her ear as she smiled.

"No, you're the first. I was a little surprised no one came to see me, since Lindsay and I were so close."

"Well, I've been on leave, and that's probably my fault. After what happened, I wasn't thinking too clearly, and I probably didn't give the investigators a comprehensive list of people to contact. Actually, it's probably just as well. I don't like turning friends and family over to someone else to talk to about Lindsay." He paused. "I'm afraid I have some other very bad news. Lindsay's sister, Renee, was murdered this morning."

"What?" Sharon stared at him, eyes like saucers.

"She was shot and killed in much the same way Lindsay was, while she was going through some things at the house. So you can imagine why I'm breaking every rule in the book to get personally involved in this case. Enough is enough."

"I can't believe this...I didn't know Renee well, but she seemed like a sweet person. I still can't believe Lindsay's gone. I don't know how many times I've reached for the phone to call and share something with her...and then I remember... How are you doing, Jim? This must be awful for you."

"It's been very hard. Losing them both like that...there just aren't the right words." He smiled over at Blair in spite of himself. "Blair's been a big help to me though."

"I can imagine," Sharon remarked, trying to keep her tone light. It was obvious Lindsay had unloaded much of her jealousy and annoyance with Blair's role in Jim's life on her best friend. "You look like you're doing very well now," she said to Blair, forcing her best polite smile. 

"I'm much better, thanks. Just working on getting full use of my arm back."

"You were very lucky," she added, still smiling. There was an iciness in her tone that indicated that she wished Lindsay had been the one to have the good fortune.

"Well, I guess I have to ask you some very predictable questions," Jim interjected, turning the focus off Blair for the moment. "Do you know of anyone who would have any reason to want to strike out against Lindsay?"

"I was just assuming it was something related to her father's testimony in that big case a few years back. I was always surprised there weren't more repercussions from that right away."

"Most people figured it was someone trying to get revenge on me."

"If that were the case, they wouldn't have missed finishing the job on Blair." Her statement was not only chillingly accurate, but very bluntly phrased. A little too blunt for an ad executive, in Jim's opinion.

"No, I suppose that's true. Did Lindsay ever mention knowing or dating a man named Angelo DiMarco?"

"She never told you about Angelo, I guess." Sharon smiled slightly. "They were lovers for about a year before her father testified against Art Brennan's investment firm. Angelo broke it off with her right before she met you."

"Did he give a reason? He wasn't involved with Art Brennan, so why should that upset him?"

"His cousin, Mike, worked for Art Brennan. He was convicted on several extortion counts and is still doing time in prison for it. Angelo and Mike were very close, since childhood."

"So Angelo broke up with Lindsay because of her father's testimony?"

"He was upset about his cousin, and it started coming between them. He'd make some nasty remark about her father and then she'd be angry and hurt and say something about Mike...it just wasn't working anymore. So he broke it off."

"Have you seen or heard from Angelo DiMarco since then?"

"Just once. I ran into him at a restaurant about two weeks ago, and we exchanged a few words. We had gotten to know each other pretty well when he was with Lindsay. Even though they'd broken up, he felt very badly about her death."

"Did he mention what he was doing for a living then?"

"Running DiMarco Transport--it's one of his father's businesses."

"Do you keep in touch now?"

"Not really. Why? Is Angelo a suspect?"

"No more than anyone else. But this is an angle we really didn't know anything about before, so I have to explore it. Did he know that Lindsay kept the letters?"

"I don't know if he did or not."

"Obviously, you knew." Jim sat back in his chair and waited for her response. Blair was watching this verbal tennis with great interest.

"That isn't too unusual, Jim. Lindsay and I were like sisters. We talked about everything. Of course I knew about the letters. I read half of them."

"I see. When was the last time you spoke to Renee Stanton?"

"At the funeral. Why?"

"Just wondering. See, it's odd that Renee was even a target. She wasn't even living in town at the time of her father's testimony. What did you and Renee talk about at the funeral?"

"What else, Jim?" Sharon shook her head. "Lindsay, of course."

"Anything specific?"

"I don't remember," she replied, her tone becoming icier.

"Did you discuss her plans at all--how long she'd be in town, whether or not she'd be coming back for more frequent visits to be moral support for her mother...that sort of thing?"

"Jim, I don't know. I know we talked about Lindsay, we cried a little, and she said something about helping her mother get some of Lindsay's personal effects together from the house."

"Someone took the risk of breaking in during broad daylight to shoot her in cold blood. Must be a reason. Someone had to know she had plans to be there."

"Unless they were watching the house."

"For what? Blair and I were there a whole day going through things and nothing happened to us."

"Maybe they didn't want to tangle with a cop, or maybe their argument isn't with you." Sharon looked annoyed now. "How should I know? Jim, if you have something to say, or to ask me, just do it. I have an appointment I'm already late for, and I don't have time for twenty questions."

"Sharon, if you have any information you're not giving me that I should have, now would be the time to come forward with it. I'll consider it willingly giving in a spirit of cooperation, and I'll do my level best to look out for your best interests."

"This is beginning to sound accusatory. I'd like you both to leave now." She stood up, and Jim and Blair did also. "If you have anything else to say to me, you had better give me some advanced notice. I won't be speaking with you again without my lawyer present."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Sharon. That's your option, of course. Thank you for your time." Jim nodded in her direction, as did Blair, following Jim out of the office.

Once back in the truck, Jim began to explain a couple of points to Blair.

"While I was talking to Sharon, I remembered the significance of U-Move-It."

"Which was?"

"It's a subsidiary company of DiMarco Transport. Damn, this all fits. Angelo was angry about his cousin going up for extortion, and God only knows how entangled Brennan really was with the DiMarco clan, or how much of an interest they had in his shifty investment scams."

"So you think Angelo hired the hit on Lindsay and Amanda?"

"I'd bet a year's salary on it. Now, the part about Renee. Sharon talked to Renee at the funeral. Sharon knows that Lindsay kept the letters from Angelo in the studio."

"She didn't say that."

"No, but she didn't have to. She and Lindsay were in that studio for hours on end together. She knew. And Renee may have said something to Sharon about either coming over while she was there so she could have a few things of Lindsay's, or maybe just talked about cleaning out the studio, feeling that would be of interest to Sharon."

"All this is conjecture, Jim. _If_ Sharon knew where the letters were, _if_ Renee talked to her about cleaning out the studio...we can't get anywhere with that."

"Shit, you sound more like a cop than I do."

"Yeah, well, don't go signing me up for the academy or anything." Blair snorted a little laugh.

"A lot of investigations have to start with a theory. So this is mine. Instead of Sharon going over to meet Renee at the house and look through Lindsay's things, she tipped off Angelo, and he sent the same shooter over to tie up the loose end and pick up the letters. Now, we have to assume that there was something about the letters that were incriminating. Just the fact they were lovers before wouldn't conclusively prove anything."

"So where do we go now?"

"U-Move-It. I want to find out what kind of track they keep of their trucks." Jim started the engine and headed out toward the opposite end of town, where the transport company was located.

"Looks like they've got one or two," Blair remarked as they pulled into the lot near the office building. The adjacent fenced lot was a sea of trucks and trailers. Blair's heart froze in his chest as he watched a man move across the lot toward one of the trucks, dressed in a business suit, clipboard in hand.

He was at least 6'4", held the pen in his left hand as he made a few notes, and walked with a very distinct limp.

"Oh my God," Blair gasped, almost inaudibly.

"Are you positive?"

"That's the limp. I'd know it anywhere."

"Wait in the truck. My back up's in the glove compartment. Here. Keep the cell phone handy. Don't you move--understand me?"

"But you can't--"

"Don't argue with me, Sandburg. Just stay put. If anything goes wrong, get the hell out of here and then call back up."

"We should call now!"

"And spook him? I don't think so." Jim paused. "Give me a couple minutes, then call back up. Okay?"

"Okay." Blair responded as Jim got out of the truck. 

"Lock your door," he said, pushing down the lock on his own side. Blair obeyed.

Jim walked casually across the lot to where the man with the clipboard was leaning inside the open door of one of the trucks, apparently checking an odometer reading.

"Excuse me." Jim waited while he backed out of the truck's cab and turned to face him. "Lieutenant Ellison, Cascade PD. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Regarding?" The man was calm, unruffled. He appeared to be in his early forties, with a good crop of dark hair and a pleasant expression.

"One of your trucks was spotted at the scene of a homicide this morning. I'll need to take a look at your records."

"You have a warrant, I assume."

"I didn't expect to need one. In cases like these, businesses generally cooperate with the authorities. Is a warrant necessary?"

"Mr. DiMarco doesn't open up the records to anyone without a court order. To safeguard customers' privacy."

"Well then, perhaps you can answer a more personal question for me." Jim fell into step with the man as he made his way back toward the office complex.

"Depends on the question."

"Where were you on the night of November 14th, this year?" As Jim asked the question, the man turned and glanced toward the truck, and spotted Blair sitting there, watching them intently. There was a moment of mutual recognition, and in the blink of an eye, the man drew a gun from under his suitcoat and aimed for the truck.

Blair ducked, and the shot went wild, ricocheting off the roof of the truck as Jim seized the man's arm with both his hands, wrestling him for the gun. The larger man wasn't about to go down easily, finally breaking Jim's hold on him with a knee in the groin and an elbow to the jaw. Jim was back on his feet and ready to spring again, when the other man retrieved the gun from where it had landed on the cement and aimed it directly at him.

"Drop it!!" Blair's voice startled both men as he approached them, Jim's revolver pointed out in front of him, gripped tightly in both hands. //He has the stance down pat even if he _can't_ hit the broad side of a barn,// Jim assessed. "I said DROP IT."

"Bet I'm a better shot than you are, kid. He'll be dead before you pull the trigger."

"You think I've been riding with cops all this time without learning to handle one of these things? Drop it now."

"You won't shoot me. You know you can't hit me anyway." The other man never took his eyes completely off Jim.

"Don't try me, man. Now drop the gun!" Blair kept his voice and his hands steady, despite the frenzy of terror going on inside. He cocked the gun, and that drew the man's attention for a moment. Jim sprung.

Grabbing the gun-bearing arm with both of his, Jim pushed him backwards, wrestling with him on the cement lot while office workers were gathering in the windows, and a couple were visible on phones, probably dialing the police. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Jim easily overpowered him this time, wrestling the gun away from him. At that moment, a black Cadillac shot out of the employee parking lot, careening onto the street with the custom license plate "Angelo 1".

Seeing that Jim was in control of the situation and knowing backup was only seconds away, Blair ran for the truck, jumped in the driver's seat and gunned the engine, taking off after the black car.

"Sandburg!!" Jim called after him, sitting astride the other man's back as he locked the cuffs in place. He pushed aside the realization that he was restraining the man who had killed his wife and daughter, focusing instead on the fact that Blair was as good as dead if he ever caught the man he was probably pursuing.

Several units charged into the lot, and Jim quickly handed the prisoner off to one of them, explaining to them to take him downtown and book him for murder. When he spotted Simon's car, he ran over to it before the captain had time to get out of it.

"Come on! Sandburg just took off after the other half of the team!" He jumped in the passenger seat, and Simon followed his directions on which way to race out of the lot.

Blair clutched the steering wheel, unused to driving at such high speeds and still uncertain of his left arm's ability to pull its share of the work. The black Cadillac held its course very well, and very determinedly, leading Blair on a high-speed chase through quiet industrial back streets, heading steadily toward the highway. Unexpectedly, the black car slammed on its brakes, barely managing to stop without going into a spin. Blair pressed the brake to the floor, finally having to swerve to miss plowing into the stopped vehicle.

He sat there, clutching Jim's gun, watching the stopped car intently. The glass in the windows was tinted black, obscuring the activities of the occupant from Blair's view. 

The driver's window lowered, and an arm holding an automatic weapon appeared. Blair dove down onto the seat as the shooter opened fire, shattering the windshield and peppering the truck with bullets. Almost simultaneously, the passenger door opened and a tall man in a dark business suit stood with a gun pointed directly at Blair. The firing from the Cadillac stopped.

"Slide that gun over here or I'll blow your face off, is that clear?"

"Crystal," Blair responded, pushing the gun over to the other man, and watched defeatedly as he tucked it in his belt. 

"Out of the truck. This way," he ordered Blair, stepping back from the bullet-damaged vehicle. Blair carefully slid across the seat, trying to avoid the pulverized glass that was all around him. Luckily, his leather coat seemed to be protecting him from much of it, though he felt some tell-tale pains in his legs as his jeans were less successful in shielding his flesh. "Move it!" The man grabbed him by the left arm, drawing a little yelp of pain as he dragged him out of the truck and essentially threw him on the ground next to it.

"Angelo DiMarco," Blair said breathlessly.

"Blair Sandburg. Now that we have the introductions out of the way, it's time to get you out of the way."

"Why?" Blair still massaged his throbbing shoulder, hoping he'd be alive long enough to care if it healed completely.

"Why not? The principal reason is that you're the only living witness. Since Carlisle couldn't handle blowing your goddamn brains out, I'll have to finish what he started. Good help's hard to find, apparently."

"Can you at least tell me why you killed Lindsay--and for God's sake, a baby? Why would you kill a child?"

"I'm not in the mercy business, pal. My father didn't get to where he is today by worrying if a few, shall we call them innocent bystanders, happened to get in the way. See, when someone gets the idea they can shoot off their mouths, you have to set them straight." Angelo was joined by the shooter from the car, another dark-haired man in a black topcoat, still carrying his weapon. "Lindsay was a nasty, two-faced little whore who turned around and told her father a whole lot of things I told her in confidence. She betrayed me."

"Amanda never betrayed you. She was a baby, for God's sake! What kind of animals are you people?!" Blair demanded.

"Efficient ones," Angelo responded, raising the gun, pointing it at Blair's face.

When the noise of the shot resounded in the icy winter air, Blair wondered why he didn't feel anything. It wasn't until the second shot took down Angelo's startled accomplice that Blair realized the first one had hit Angelo in the back of the head, sending him forward onto the cement nearby, a pool of blood forming under his ruined skull. 

The sound of sirens was coming into focus now, and Blair struggled to his feet to see Jim running from an impossible distance, all the way from a neighboring warehouse, with Simon on his heels.

Jim said nothing as he rushed toward Blair. He ran full tilt until he was close enough to slow down and grab the other man around the waist and lift him a few inches off the ground to hug him tightly. Simon went about the task of checking the men on the ground for vital signs.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" he whispered into the curls under his mouth.

"That was close," Blair muttered, clutching at Jim tightly, feeling his body shaking almost uncontrollably as the impact of the events of the last few minutes washed over him.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Jim snarled, still holding onto Blair with a fierceness that nearly crushed the younger man's breath from his body.

"I knew the guy you were talking to was the shooter that night, but I figured Angelo was probably making a break for it."

"You all right, Sandburg?" Simon asked, satisfied that Jim was just going to stand there squeezing the life out of the smaller body in his arms.

"Yeah, I'm okay. They took a lot of shots at the truck, but they missed." He mourned the loss of closeness as Jim released him and moved away a little. "He said something about Lindsay betraying him--that he'd told her things in confidence that she told her father, and then he must've testified about it--or looked into it."

"Dirk was working at Brennan Enterprises at the time, so if Angelo let something slip about Mike, that explains a lot," Jim responded.

"It makes sense he'd take the heat, figuring maybe Lindsay would be safe if the DiMarco's thought he'd just stumbled on it by himself," Simon concurred.

"So there must have been something in the letters--something to indicate that Angelo knew what was going on with Brennan."

"Maybe we'll still find the letters. Obviously, we'll be searching Angelo's place, his office, and his car. Something should turn up."

"Did he hurt your shoulder?" Jim was taking over the job of massaging that Blair had started.

"Just gave me a good yank. Man, that hurts."

"Why don't you take him over to the hospital to get checked out. I'll handle things here," Simon offered.

"Good idea."

"That was incredible shooting, man," Blair remarked, taking one last, uneasy glance at the corpses on the ground as the two men walked toward a police unit that would give them a ride to the hospital.

"I had a pretty good incentive," Jim responded, taking a hold of Blair's hand, and holding onto it until they got into the back of the waiting car. "Get us over to Cascade Gen--"

"I don't want to go back there, Jim. Come on, man. I don't need the hospital again." Blair gave Jim his best puppy dog eyes, and it worked like a charm.

"How about just giving us a lift home then, huh?" he asked the uniformed officer in the car. The other man just smiled.

"Sure thing, Lieutenant."

* * *

"Ow!"

"Blair, I told you this was gonna hurt."

"Blow on it or something," Blair groaned.

"Shit, I've seen people with a limb dangling handle the pain better than this," Jim complained, blowing on a small cut on the back of Blair's leg that he'd removed a piece of glass from and disinfected. The other man was lying face down on the big bed in a bulky sweater and his boxers while Jim tended the few scattered cuts made by the glass that bit through Blair's jeans on the seat of the truck.

"That's easy for them. They're in shock. I'm not. Plus, they don't have someone pouring acid in their wounds."

"Yeah, it'd be much better for your whole leg to swell up with an infection than to clean these cuts." Jim shook his head and blew again on the wound as he'd been told. "How about your butt?"

"What?" Blair sounded more than a little surprised.

"Do you have any cuts there?"

"If I do, you are _not_ putting that...battery acid on them." Blair knew perfectly well his butt was uninjured, but the thought of Jim examining it closely appealed to him greatly. 

"Lift up." Jim took a hold of the waistband of Blair's boxers.

"Sweet-talker," Blair shot back over his shoulder, not moving.

"Sandburg, you've got two seconds--"

"Or what?"

"Oh, shit, I don't know. I'll be more pissed than I already am. How's that?"

"I don't think that sounds too great." Blair lifted up and Jim slid the boxers down his legs and tossed them aside. Blair settled back comfortably on the bed, arms folded under his head.

"There isn't a mark on you here," Jim commented, trying not to stare at the smooth, rounded cheeks in front of him.

"I know," Blair replied honestly.

"You're really beautiful, you know that?" Jim hesitantly reached out, and finally laid a hand lightly on one buttock, stroking the soft skin there.

"Jim...I really...want you," Blair said, rolling onto his back and sitting up to face Jim. "If you're not, you know, ready...I'll understand."

Jim took in the sight of Blair sitting there on his bed, naked from the waist down, the oversized sweater conspiring with Blair's folded hands to cover his manhood. 

"What about your shoulder, Chief?"

"I don't think that has a lot to do with it, Jim," Blair replied, smiling.

"I don't want to hurt you." Jim remained completely serious.

"I don't want to hurt you either, love." Blair reached out and stroked Jim's cheek. "We can wait as long as you want. If this is too soon, just say so."

"No, baby, it's not too soon. I love you so much," Jim caught the hand that had touched his face and kissed the palm. "I want to show you how much." Then, looking a bit disappointed, he lowered their joined hands so he held Blair's in both of his. "But this isn't the right time. Simon's tying up the loose ends downtown, and I want to follow this through the right way. Plus, I have to talk to Marge, as much as I hate doing that. I just don't feel like we're free yet. Does that make any sense?"

"Makes perfect sense to me. I was pushing it," Blair replied, smiling a little. "But man, when it happens--fireworks!"

"Come here."

"Jim, I don't have any pants on."

"I do. You're safe. For now." Jim motioned to the younger man to come closer, and before he knew it, he had a warm, heavy lapful of Blair. //The little devil's straddling me,// Jim thought, relishing the feeling of that warm, naked flesh sitting on his clothed lap.

"Can't wait til we do this without clothes," Blair breathed against Jim's ear, his arms and legs wrapped securely around his partner.

"Blair, all the time we've been together--as friends, whatever-- there's never been much...I guess I should say I've never...I haven't exactly spoiled you."

"You have too," Blair objected, pulling back to look Jim in the eyes. "I haven't wanted for anything since I met you. Believe me, I wasn't exactly loaded when we first met. But when you let me move in with you, you really took care of me, man. Like nobody else ever did."

"I don't mean routine stuff like groceries and rent. Hell, you earned that with your sweat equity working cases with me. But I thought about all the things I always did for Lindsay--flowers, gifts, romantic dinners--"

"That's not exactly what you give your male roommate, Jim. Although, I'd've probably died a happy man if I'd gotten any one of those from you," Blair responded, nibbling at Jim's ear.

"What I'm trying to say here--Blair, stop it, you're killing me."

"Sorry." Blair straightened so they were almost nose to nose.

"What I'm trying to say is that I want our first time to be special. You deserve a lot better than me just jumping you and then getting dressed and going back to work a half hour later." Jim cupped Blair's face in both hands. "I want it to be special...romantic. God, I almost lost you today. What I'm feeling right now is so damned intense...I don't want to rush it. Blair, I never once _courted_ you. Even a little."

"You want to court me now?" Blair asked, smiling a little. Jim leaned in for a quick kiss and then hugged Blair tightly against him.

"I want to wine you and dine you and buy you flowers and dance with you--how corny does that sound? And it's not like I'm trying to put you in some sort of role or anything, I just--"

"Jim?"

"Yeah?" He released a little of the pressure on Blair so they were face to face again.

"It sounds like every fantasy I've had for the last four years."

"Mine too." Jim smiled, then frowned a little. "Sandburg, you're humping me. You've gotta get off me, or all the nice things I just said are right out the window."

"Tempting." Blair kissed him again, quickly, and then slid off Jim's lap, yanking his sweater down to cover a very obvious naked erection. "I'll go change."

"Good idea. I'll meet you downstairs and we'll go see Simon."

* * *

Lindsay Stanton had learned a few very incriminating secrets from her lover, Angelo DiMarco. In his attempts to impress the pretty blonde, he'd bragged about his family's powerful connections, and even quoted some of the huge profits his cousin, Mike, was pulling in through his involvement in several shady investment deals through Brennan Enterprises. Apparently thinking he and Lindsay were together for the long haul, he had ceased checking his tongue, or even being terribly careful what he wrote in his letters to her when he was in Europe on business for an extended time. All this was learned from the letters, which were found in the glove compartment of Angelo's Cadillac.

Jim theorized that when Lindsay's conscience got the better of her, she went to her father, who was a financial analyst with Brennan Enterprises, and told him what she knew. Fearful for his daughter's safety, Dirk Stanton investigated her claims on his own, found evidence to support them, and then went to the police as if he had been the one to uncover the corruption. His hope had been to leave Lindsay in the clear.

Warren Carlisle, the man who actually did the shooting that night, was a long-time employee of the DiMarco family. He only did their work, never hiring out as a free-lance hitman. He formed a close friendship with the flamboyant Angelo, and in the process of trying to negotiate a deal to avoid the death penalty, Carlisle filled in a lot of missing information for the police, and made offers to provide yet more incriminating evidence against his employers.

When the Brennan case first broke, Angelo's family insisted on the termination of his relationship with the star witness' daughter. When his cousin was convicted based on evidence that was, in Angelo's opinion, a little too specific for Dirk to have stumbled across accidentally, he came around to the belief that the woman he'd loved, and somewhat involuntarily broken up with, had betrayed him. 

Shortly after Mike's conviction, Lindsay Stanton married Jim Ellison, and only a month later, became pregnant with Amanda. What little mercy or fondness Angelo still retained for Lindsay went out the window in his irrational jealousy that she was getting on with her life, and marrying so soon after the end of their relationship.

Carlisle was in Europe at the time Angelo decided to use his services to retaliate against Lindsay for her traitorous behavior. Since he wanted the best, Angelo was willing to wait for Carlisle's return, just two months before the murders.

Angelo had begun an affair with Sharon Larson after ending his relationship with Lindsay, and unlike Lindsay, Sharon _was_ both impressed and excited by the power and influence of the DiMarco family. At the time of his death at Jim's hands, Angelo was still seeing Sharon. 

Renee had made the fatal error of calling Sharon when she was in town, asking her if she would like to stop in and select a couple of mementos from the items in Lindsay's studio. In a panic, Sharon remembered the small stack of letters from Angelo that Lindsay had kept in the back of her middle desk drawer. She phoned him immediately, warning him of what could be a very incriminating discovery. Angelo had summoned Carlisle and dispatched him to take care of Renee and dispose of the letters.

Ironically, Lindsay's attempts to keep them private had succeeded when the police made their initial sweep of the Ellison home. Middle drawer organizers with hollow bases for storage of confidential papers was a trademark of Dirk Stanton. He had gifted his daughter with the innocent-looking black plastic tray with its paperclip and rubber band compartments when she was still in college, sharing a room with a very nosy roommate. Lindsay had kept it ever since, using it to hide anything she didn't want found. Including the letters. Renee only found them because she knew where to look.

* * *

Jim and Blair attended Renee Stanton's funeral on a grim, overcast December day. There was already snow on the ground, and fat white flakes were wafting around the mourners who stood shivering at the gravesite. She was buried next to her sister, Lindsay, in the Stanton family plot.

As the mourners dispersed, a woman's voice stopped the two men in their trek back to the truck. Marge Stanton was walking briskly across the snowy ground to where they stood. Jim had spoken to her on the phone, and then briefly in person, following Renee's death. Once the real reason behind her daughters' and granddaughter's demise was explained to her, she was much less hostile toward her former son-in-law. 

"I owe you an apology, Blair," she began, reaching her hand out toward him. He shook it readily.

"Accepted, of course. You've been through so much...it's understandable." Blair felt a great deal of sympathy for the pale woman with the red-rimmed eyes who stood before him. At the same time, he respected the strength and composure with which she had faced her losses. 

"No, it isn't understandable. I made some very terrible accusations, and I had no right to do that. I knew when Dirk made the decision to go to the police that we were all in danger. I never expected it to end this...horribly though."

"At the time, both the feds and our department were urging Dirk to get his family into the witness protection program. We feared there would be some retaliation, given our suspicions that Brennan Enterprises was connected to the mob," Jim stated. "I guess I thought I could protect Lindsay after we were married. And when nothing happened for so long, it built up a false sense of security."

"I know you couldn't have done any more to protect her. No one would expect that bastard to be so bold as to walk into the house at dinnertime and..." Marge drew her coat more closely around herself.

"Is someone staying with you, Marge?" Blair asked. The woman seemed moved by his concern, given their rather unpleasant history.

"Yes, my sisters are here, thank you for asking." She forced a little smile. "I'm thinking seriously of moving out East with Gretchen--my younger sister. She lives alone, and she said she'd like the company."

"That might be for the best," Jim responded.

"I'll feel safer. Though I confess, everyone who truly means anything to me isn't here anymore." Marge cast an eye back at the Stanton plot. Lindsay and Amanda's graves were still new, though smoothed out flush with the grass. "Thank you for letting us use the plot for Renee. I know the original plan was for you to be buried next to Lindsay someday."

"I thought your family should be together in one spot. Lindsay and Mandy will always be with me, no matter where I'm living, or buried."

"You really did love her, didn't you?"

"Yes, Marge, I did. Things weren't perfect between us. I know it wasn't a storybook romance for Lindsay, but I did love her, and I miss her."

"Well, I better be going. Will you be at the funeral dinner?"

"We'll be there." Jim smiled slightly.

"Thank you--both of you--for coming."

"Renee was a lovely person. I wouldn't have missed it."

* * *

Jim removed his dark topcoat and tossed it on the couch. He'd worn that garment twice in a little more than a month now. He watched Blair walk to his old bedroom and discard his own dark coat, then move to the kitchen to make some hot tea.

"Hungry? You didn't eat anything at the dinner." Blair filled the pot and put the water on to boil.

"No, thanks. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve. I just realized that." Jim loosened his tie and opened the top button of his shirt as he slumped on the couch.

"What do you want to do?" Blair came over and sat next to him, ducking under an arm that came automatically over the smaller man's shoulders.

"Make tomorrow night our night." Jim reached up and released Blair's hair from its pony tail, watching it tumble down onto his shoulders. 

"Maybe we could have a candlelight dinner."

"But we're not cooking it. I'll find someplace that'll deliver. I'd like to have you all to myself, right here in private. Is that okay?" At that precise moment, the teapot whistled.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Blair responded, bringing a little laugh out of both of them. "Hang on. I'll get us our tea." Jim watched the other man go back out to the kitchen, thinking that only true love could make him drink hot flavored water and pretend he enjoyed it. "Is camomile okay?"

"Whatever you're having." Jim didn't care if it was dishwater. As long as he could drink it curled up on the couch with Blair. "I'll get a fire going."

"Sounds great. Hey, why don't we go get a tree tomorrow?" Blair carried the two cups in while Jim was starting the fire. When it was crackling satisfactorily, he joined Blair on the couch again.

"Would you be upset if we didn't?"

"No, not at all." Blair sipped at the hot liquid and then snuggled into Jim's arms again. "Man, it was _cold_ out there."

"In more ways than one. I don't think I can deal with seeing the tree, thinking about Mandy...about Christmas at all, really. This one would have been so...damn special," Jim managed, stopping before his voice really broke.

"Didn't you get her some stuff already?" Blair asked, feeling that maybe Jim needed to talk about it.

"A couple stuffed animals. Nothing major yet. I left them in the stuff I sent to Marge. I...couldn't look at them. I sure as hell couldn't deal with taking them back." Jim drew in a shaky breath. "God, does it ever stop hurting this much? Every time I see people with a baby...God, Blair, it just rips my heart out." He didn't try to hold back the few tears that escaped. Blair set his cup aside and then took Jim's and placed it next to his. He slid into Jim's lap and wrapped his arms tightly around the other man's neck.

"I know it hurts, love. The holidays are always miserable for people when they've suffered a loss."

"I keep expecting...to feel better. But everyday I get up and the first thing I realize is that my little girl is never going to grow up," Jim murmured in a broken voice as he held Blair tightly. "It's not fair. I just want to ask God why...how could He do something like that to a beautiful little baby who never...hurt anyone... I don't understand it."

"God didn't kill her, Jim," Blair said gently, aching himself with each tremor of tears he felt in the other's body. "Carlisle did. It's free will, man. God let's us choose our actions. That means sometimes, we choose evil actions. People like Carlisle, Angelo DiMarco--their free will is what killed her. Not God."

"They wouldn't let me get near that bastard again. It was my arrest, damn it!"

"Jim, in Simon's place, would you have let you near Carlisle again? He was protecting you from yourself, man. You let up on Carlisle before because you had to come after me. But if you were one on one with him, knowing what he did, could you have controlled yourself?" Blair pulled back enough to be face to face with Jim, and carefully brushed away a couple of the other man's tears.

"No."

"It wouldn't bring them back for you to murder Carlisle, even if you had the chance."

"He should pay for what he did. There isn't anything bad enough I could do to him--"

"Jim, listen to what you just said." Blair took the other man's face in both his hands. "You couldn't have done anything bad enough to him to be equal to the...the evil it takes to murder a child. Society can't do that. Even the death penalty isn't that evil. Jim, that's so huge, so...terrible...only God knows how to cope with that." Blair took a deep breath. "Look, you know I'm not overly religious, and I sure as hell don't spend a lot of time preaching religion. But I believe, that no matter what name He's called by, there is a higher power in the universe. And I think there are certain things you have to let Him deal with. Whether you think it's Karma or reincarnation into a horrible next life, or eternal damnation to a fiery pit--the point is, most religions seem to agree that there's some way that evil is dealt with. We can't avenge something like this. But there are powers that can, and will."

"So you think Carlisle'll pay for what he did?"

"Come on, man. You believe in God, right?"

"Yes, I do, though I've got to say that all this is enough to make you wonder."

"Well, I'll take the yes answer and run with it. Do you really think a deity that is _good_ would tolerate the murder of innocent babies without reprisal of some sort?"

"No."

"Jim, you found the people responsible. You have to put it in the hands of the courts, yes. But you have to realize that it'll go before the ultimate court eventually, and somehow, in some way we can't even imagine, I believe that DiMarco and Carlisle will pay for all the lives they took and the lives they destroyed." Blair settled himself comfortably against Jim's chest, cuddled close by powerful arms. "Look, even after everything I've studied and all the peoples I've dealt with, I don't know who's 'right'. I don't know the deity's name, or which religion is closest to the truth about how things are run. But I do believe there's justice in this world, eventually. And if we can't achieve it on this plane, it'll happen on the next. Somehow."

"I hope you're right, baby. I really do." Jim kissed the soft hair under his chin and squeezed Blair tightly. 

"It's okay to hurt about Mandy, and Lindsay. But the anger is what'll eat you alive, man. You've got to trust that higher power to sort things out and no matter what Carlisle gets from the courts, remember he's still got another judgement to deal with." Blair was quiet a moment. "If I said I knew all of this for certain, I'd be too arrogant for words. I don't know anything for sure. But after all the reading and studying and researching on the subject I've done, that's what I believe."

"You've never steered me wrong before, sweetheart."

"Jim, if we go ahead with this...with us... I know I'm kind of stating the obvious here, but I can't have your children." 

"I wish there was a way we could do something like that together. But my pain over Mandy isn't going to go away by having another baby. I'm not saying I'd never want another child, but it isn't imperative to me. I loved her more than my own life. But she's gone."

"Gay couples don't always have great luck adopting. What if we can't ever have any children at all? Adopted or otherwise?" Blair straightened up to look at Jim. 

"How do you feel about that? You're great with kids."

"I adored Mandy. She was part of you, and that made her more precious than anything--well, anything except _you_. Selfishly? As long as I have you, I'll be happy. We'll always have friends who need a free babysitter once in a while." Blair searched Jim's face worriedly. "But you still haven't told me how you feel."

"Mandy was a treasure, and I'll always love her. Losing her...that's a gaping hole somewhere in the middle of my chest that nothing seems to fill..." Jim swallowed hard, then continued. "But the most important thing to me is being with you. You can run me more ragged than ten kids could hope to on their worst days."

"Thanks, I think," Blair responded, deadpan as Jim chuckled a little. 

"I guess I'm trying to say that having my daughter was a wonderful experience, but if we can be together, I could live without having that experience again. And if things work out for us to adopt a child someday, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"You won't feel cheated?"

"Blair, I don't know how to say this. I even hate saying it because it sounds so...horrible. But as much as I loved Lindsay, and I adored Mandy more than words... I felt _cheated_ when I didn't have you. When we're together, it's like I'm...complete. When I was with Lindsay, it was always like the other half of myself was missing. It was so unfair to her, because it wasn't her fault. She was the kind of wife you always dream of having--beautiful, intelligent, faithful, sexy, caring, a first-rate mother...and I just couldn't love her with all my heart no matter how much I wanted to. Every day of my life I felt cheated because I couldn't fight with you about the mess in the bathroom or eat breakfast with you in the morning, or talk to you for hours like we used to before I got married... I was withering up in that marriage, Chief. I didn't know how to stop it, either. I had no reason to leave Lindsay--hell, where would I go? Back to living with you and not being able to have you?"

"Nothing mattered to me after you left. Anything good that happened at the U...it was just like some kind of sick consolation prize. It hurts to just think about what it felt like to come home to this place and know I wasn't going to see you here. To not have you coming in the door _with_ me, tossing your keys in the basket, arguing with me about what we were having for dinner..." Blair ducked his head as his eyes filled up with useless tears for pain that was long past. Jim pulled him close again, enveloping him in strong arms, stroking his hair.

"In case I haven't mentioned it lately, I love you."

"I love you too," Blair responded, snuggling against Jim. "And you're all mine."

"All yours, baby. Always."

"I always felt like nothing bad could happen to me when I was close to you."

"That's because nothing bad _will_ ever happen to you if you're close to me, unless they take me out first."

"Don't ever say that. I'd die if anything happened to you."

"No, you wouldn't. But it isn't going to if I can help it."

"Jim?"

"What, sweetheart?"

"Would mistletoe be okay? You know, like right over the couch?" Blair felt the rumble of Jim's laughter. 

"As long as you get enough to put some over the bed, and in the kitchen, and on the shower head, and over the front door--"

"Yeah, but what about when the guys come over to watch the game on Sunday?"

"Forget the front door, and make sure I end up on the right couch, with you."

"I don't want to end up kissing Simmons from Robbery."

"Oh, man, you sure know how to kill a man's appetite. What's wrong, you don't wanna cook tonight?" Jim made a horrible face as Blair looked up, and they both laughed.

Concluded in part five.


	5. Chapter 5

Due to the length of this story, it has been split into 5 parts.

## A Million Pieces

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Continued from part four.

* * *

**A MILLION PIECES** \- part five 

by Candy Apple Blair checked out his image in the mirror. He wasn't exactly dressed up, but then they'd agreed that while this night would be special, both wanted to be comfortable. Starched collars chafing one's neck didn't fall into that category.

Dressed in a pair of tan cotton pants and the blue sweater he'd inherited from Jim's sweater collection, freshly washed hair loose on his shoulders, Blair certainly looked relaxed. He smiled when he thought of Jim's off-handed comment in the middle of the misery of cleaning out the Ellison house that day. He'd told Blair he'd look "cute" in this sweater. The color brought out his eyes perfectly, but it was too large, and the sleeves frequently rebelled against being pushed up and fell back down past his hands. Jim was the only person Blair was comfortable letting put an emphasis on his size. He wasn't tiny by any means. His build was sturdy, and he'd worked to develop his muscle tone considerably in the time he'd spent running around in Jim's much more physical world. 

Jim never demeaned him or failed to respect him as an equal because of their physical size difference. He knew the larger man felt more protective of him because he was smaller, and part of the physical attraction for Jim was Blair's "cuteness"; his smile, his bouncy personality, his humor, his energy. 

So if Jim thought he looked "cute" in a baggy sweater, Blair could cope with that. He also loved feeling it against his body and knowing it was last wrapped more snugly around Jim's.

Upstairs, Jim stood in the middle of his bedroom in his boxers, scratching his chest and staring blankly into his closet. //This is supposed to be casual, relaxed...why in hell is it taking me longer to pick out a shirt and jeans than it did to pick out my prom tux?//

Jim pulled out another shirt. A blue plaid. Lindsay had bought it for him a few months earlier. He hung it back, feeling a little stab of guilt at the thought of having Blair remove that particular shirt from his body as they prepared to make love the first time.

//Black. Now that's cheerful, Ellison. Christmas Eve, first time together...wear a black shirt. Who says tragedy has made you morose? Idiot...// He stuck that one back in the closet and pulled out a familiar old brown plaid. He'd owned it for years, and it was definitely getting the worse for wear. But it was one Blair had bought for him one day when he was buying some clothes for himself, and that had made it precious. 

Jim could remember the other man coming home with a few modest bags from the mall that day. Blair didn't really squander money on a lot of expensive luxuries, and when he stocked up on clothes, it was usually because he needed them. Armed with a couple hundred bucks gleaned from his stipend check, Blair had spent a Saturday afternoon at the mall replenishing his wardrobe. Jim had passed on going along, preferring to avoid the crowds and spend a little down time with the remote control.

When Blair got home, he'd dragged his bags into the living room, chattered on non-stop about everything he'd seen practically from the time he'd driven out of the parking lot behind the building as if he'd been on a year-long expedition in Borneo instead of having spent two hours at the Cascade Mall. Giving up on trying to follow the movie he'd been watching, Jim had surrendered to the account of Blair's solo flight to the mall and listened. 

Then Blair had dug around in his treasures and pulled out the shirt and tossed it to Jim. He'd tried to sound casual in telling Jim that he'd found a really good sale at one of the men's stores and just picked it up, thinking Jim might like it. The sentinel could tell by the increase in the other's heartbeat and respiration that it was _very_ important to him that Jim not only like the gift, but that he was pleased with the gesture. So Jim had reacted a little more excitedly than he'd felt about the shirt that wasn't really his style--at least not then--and had made an effort to wear it more often than he really wanted to. Blair had been pleased, and the gesture of spontaneous generosity had touched Jim greatly.

Realizing he'd been standing there in his underwear wandering down memory lane while Blair was probably dressed and ready downstairs, he pulled on the shirt and added a pair of favorite jeans and pulled on socks, not bothering with shoes. He was planning on a little footsy with Blair anyway, so the shoes wouldn't have lasted long.

Feeling ashamed at having taken this length of time to get dressed in what were essentially his favorite old clothes, Jim hastily stuffed any evidence of his long search for the right outfit back into the closet and closed the doors. //Shit, I'm starting to put my stuff away the same way he does...//

Blair was busily lighting candles all over the living room and on the kitchen table as Jim descended the stairs. Soft music played on the stereo. He was smiling brightly as Jim approached him, shaking away the flame from the match. He was nothing short of stunned when Jim produced from behind his back a single, perfect red rose.

"You were serious about the flowers, huh?" Blair said quietly, a little catch in his voice.

"Do you mind?" Jim asked a little hesitantly. He was afraid Blair might be offended or feel that Jim was somehow "feminizing" him by giving him the flower.

"No," Blair responded almost without sound, shaking his head. "No one's ever given me roses before." He accepted it and passed it briefly beneath his nose, breathing in the scent, his eyes drifting shut a moment. Jim longed for a way to capture the magic of that sight.

"Dance with me?" Jim reached out a hand and Blair took it, smiling and still holding his rose in the other hand. "There's a song I want you to hear. The first time I heard it, I thought of you, and every time I heard it after that, I imagined holding you in my arms, swaying together to this song. I love you, Blair."

"I love you too, love," Blair responded, still smiling, only drawing in the corners of his mouth to share a prolonged kiss with his lover before Jim pressed the button the CD player to bring Elton John's voice to life as he pulled Blair tightly against him and began to sway softly in the midst of the dancing candlelight.

//There was a time I was everything and nothing all at once, When you found me, I was feeling like a cloud across the sun. I need to tell ya How you light up every second of the day, But in the moonlight, You just shine like a beacon on the bay.

And I can't explain, But there's something about the way you look tonight Takes my breath away, It's that feeling I get about you deep inside, And I can't describe, But it's something about the way you look tonight, Takes my breath away, The way you look tonight.

With a smile, You pull the deepest secrets from my heart. In all honesty, I'm speechless and I don't know where to start.

And I can't explain, But it's something about the way you look tonight, Oh, takes my breath away, It's that feelin' I get about you deep inside, And I can't describe, But it's something about the way you look tonight, Takes my breath away, The way you look tonight...//

The song ended and another slow song began, finding the two men wrapped tightly around each other, finally relishing their love and their first chance to express it without hesitation.

"Is that how you really feel about me?" Blair finally sacrificed a little closeness to look up at Jim.

"No, because nobody's found words for that yet. But it comes close." Jim smiled, knowing Blair would blush a little and duck his head again, which he did. He hugged his lover close against him again, rubbing his back slowly. "I used to hear that song sometimes, and I knew it was wrong but all I could think about was...this. Holding you like this. Us being in love and it going both ways between us."

"Sometimes I still can't believe this is real. That I won't wake up and find out that I'm alone or that we're just buddies like always--" Blair was cut short by two gentle fingers pressed over his lips.

"Blair, look at me. You're awake. I'm awake. We've walked through fire to get here, but we're here. Does this feel like a dream?" He swooped down on his partner, sealing their mouths together, tongue gently insisting on entry into the velvety wetness waiting there to receive it.

The warm substance of Jim's arms, firm but always heart-warmingly gentle, enfolding him, the reality of their mouths meeting and tongues sliding in their own rhythm swirled together, convinced Blair finally that this was real, and that there was no room for dreams here...where reality was surpassing his most satisfying fantasies.

When Jim finally broke away for air, the sight of Blair stole what few shreds of Jim's heart the smaller man didn't already have wrapped around his little finger. Lips moist and slightly parted, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with desire, the light of the candles accenting the natural highlights in the mane of silky hair framing that perfect face.

Blair could do nothing more than stare up at his lover. Jim was stunning, with his strong features and hypnotic blue eyes. The powerful body that was the object of more than one lustful glance from the opposite sex--and a few from the same sex that Blair had observed with a growing sense of pride in ownership--symbolized both strength and gentleness to Blair. He'd never been touched by anyone with the kind of love and gentleness and _softness_ he'd felt in Jim's touch. Even when those big arms pulled him in fiercely or held him in place for a blistering kiss, there was something in the touch that made Blair feel like the most exquisite piece of treasured crystal--something that is touched only with the utmost respect and gentleness, almost cradled in the hands.

"Think we should have dinner?"

"Do I have to let go of you?" Jim asked, tightening his hold a little.

"Just long enough to get the goodies out on the table. I can't wait to see how you taste with a little cocktail sauce."

"I thought that went with the shrimp, Chief," Jim teased, moving back into position to slow dance with Blair while they talked.

"It does, but we aren't going to use napkins with dinner. Anything you dribble, I get to clean up my own way."

"That goes two ways, baby."

"Good. Because I might be a little messy with that chocolate mousse."

"I smell the shish kabobs."

"I put them in the oven to warm up right before you came down. Getting everything done ahead of time was a great idea, man. No break in the mood."

It only took a moment to put dinner on the table, and as if by unspoken agreement, both men worked efficiently to lay out their feast. Pulling two chairs close together on one side of the table, they began with the shrimp cocktail, Blair making good on his promise to be Jim's napkin at the first drip of errant cocktail sauce. 

He used the tip of his tongue to effectively lift the drop of sauce off Jim's lower lip, then invaded Jim's mouth to share the taste of the delicacy, mingled with the taste of his lover. Drawing back, he selected a particularly choice shrimp from his dish and dipping it in the sauce, fed it to Jim, who made a point of nipping and licking at the tip of Blair's finger along with the shrimp.

Having moved so close together that they shared one personal space, they alternated feeding each other the little cubes of meat and vegetable from the shish kabobs, following almost every bite with kisses ranging from little nips to prolonged explorations of each other's mouths.

The chocolate mousse proved to be perfect finger food. Jim started the game by scooping a gob of the frothy dessert on his finger and offering it to Blair, who made a decidedly obscene display of licking and sucking it off Jim's finger, all the while keeping his eyes riveted to Jim's. Satisfied he'd cleansed the finger of everything but its flesh, he released it, then offered his own chocolate moussed finger to Jim, who mimicked Blair's earlier display, with a few embellishments of his own, running his tongue along the underside of Blair's finger, sending shivers through the other man's body at the thought of what that tongue could do to other parts of his anatomy. 

With very little of the dessert actually eaten, it was abandoned in favor of deep kissing, as Jim pulled Blair out of his chair and into Jim's lap, which the other man straddled, bringing their overheated groins in dangerous proximity. This time, when Blair began a rhythmic humping against Jim, rubbing their hardening lengths against one another, the larger man raised no objections. Instead, he took Blair's rear in both hands and pulled him closer, kneading the firm cheeks with gentle but insistent hands.

Blair finally pulled away from Jim's mouth long enough to moan and gasp for air. Their rhythm was becoming frantic, the pleasure building to a crescendo. Neither dared think of what it would be like to finally be naked against each other. Their hearts were thundering in their ears, their breaths mingled and harsh, just at this clothed friction.

"Jim!" Blair shouted finally, the first to succumb to the sensations, spurting his completion in a spreading moist area on his pants. Blair's cry of his name and the smell of Blair's seed conspired with the overload of stimulation to bring Jim to his own conclusion, Blair's name a strangled cry wrenched from his throat.

For long moments, the silence was unbroken except for the sounds of labored breathing and thundering heartbeats as the two men slumped together in the chair, a tangle of arms and legs and disheveled clothes.

"I don't think I've come in my pants since I was about sixteen," Jim finally groaned into Blair's ear, then kissed and nipped at the lobe.

"Then you've been with boring lovers."

"You do it often, huh?" Jim asked, a smile in his voice as he nibbled his way down Blair's damp throat, amazed he could start to feel interested in making love again so soon.

"All the time...when I'm fantasizing about you." Blair tilted his head back, allowing Jim better access to the tender skin of his throat and neck. The other man took full advantage, kissing and marking Blair with lips and tongue, pulling back pleased at the sight of a couple of large red spots in very visible places.

"Good answer, Chief." Jim aggressively grabbed handfuls of Blair's ass, massaging it and letting his fingers find their way to the cleft between them through the annoyingly thick material of the pants. "God, I never wanted anybody this bad, baby."

"Let's get cleaned up and go upstairs, huh?" Blair suggested huskily, surprised he could even find that much of a voice. "I want you inside me, lover."

"I want that too, baby. Oh God, I want to feel all of you." Jim reluctantly let Blair move off his lap and then rose and walked to the bathroom, hand in hand with his lover.

They hastily undressed each other, soaked washcloths with warm water and washed away the sticky remains of their frantic union on the kitchen chair. Cleaned but still naked, they made their way through the loft, blowing out candles until only two fat white ones remained lit. Each man took one candle, and his lover's hand, and together, they moved upstairs.

"You're the most beautiful man I ever saw...hell, the most beautiful _human_ I ever saw," Blair said in a voice barely above a whisper, running his fingers lightly over the firm, smooth chest in front of him. "It's like someone sculpted a Greek god out of flesh instead of stone..." Blair's genuine comments and awed exploration with his fingers made Jim blush this time. The younger man smiled. //I finally made Jim Ellison, tough ex-military police lieutenant, blush! Yes!!// Blair thought to himself, but didn't say anything more.

"This coming from someone with the hair of an angel and the body of a devil," Jim responded, grinning as he scooped Blair up off the floor into his arms, and kissed him thoroughly before depositing him on the bed. Taking only a moment to admire the sight of the much-desired body on his bed, Jim lowered himself carefully over Blair until he covered him. Still supporting much of his weight on his elbows, he carded his fingers through the silky hair fanned out on the pillow.

"I can't believe we're finally here," Blair whispered, reaching up to caress Jim's cheek. "I love you so much...I never thought I'd be able to show you how much."

"We have the rest of our lives, sweetheart." Jim caught the hand and kissed the palm, the fingers, then the back. "This is it. This is what forever feels like."

"I always wondered," Blair responded with a slight smile. "It feels...so warm and complete and...perfect."

"If I hurt you, or anything puts a strain on your shoulder or your incisions, you tell me, baby. I don't want to do anything that doesn't feel good to you."

"I trust you." Blair saw the coming objection and forestalled it. "But I'll tell you right away if something doesn't feel right."

Satisfied by this promise, Jim lowered his head and met Blair's lips in a gentle, lingering kiss. He let his mouth travel over Blair's cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his forehead and into his hair. The smaller man was purring beneath him, letting Jim have his fill.

He swirled his tongue around the shell of an ear, then invaded the ear more aggressively, whispering hot, breathy words of love in his tongue's wet wake. He could feel Blair's hands come up and gentle fingers slide into his hair as he kissed his way across the hair-dusted chest, seeking and tormenting responsive nipples with his tongue.

Blair arched into the hot mouth that enveloped his left nipple and brought it to a painful hardness. He couldn't suppress a little moan as the right nipple was dragged to the edge of its endurance by that insistent mouth. 

Jim felt Blair's legs spread open wider beneath him as the smaller body arched frantically into the flood of sensation that turned Blair's nipples to hard little pebbles. 

Relieved he'd taken a little of the raw hunger away downstairs, Jim relaxed into the project of driving Blair into a delicious frenzy. As he licked a trail down the center of Blair's abdomen to his navel, memorizing the taste and texture of the soft skin there, he smiled a bit at how readily Blair had become almost fully erect and frantic again. Sliding up Blair's body, he whispered hotly in his ear words that brought an almost painful whimper from list lover:

"I'm going to taste you, baby. I want to taste all your secrets."

Jim retreated down to the sensitive skin near Blair's navel, then swirled his tongue in the little valley, holding onto Blair's hips to still their spastic movements. 

Seeing that prolonging the sweet torment too long was just going to mean Blair coming by himself way too soon for Jim's liking, he began to concentrate on his priority: learning every crevice of the most secret and private part of Blair's body.

Avoiding the straining shaft his attentions had brought to painful hardness, he pushed Blair's legs up from underneath, then enveloped one of the ovals there in his mouth.

"Oh God, Jim...Oh, man, that's...ooohhhhh..." Blair dissolved into nothing more than moaning and little cries as Jim moved to the second oval, treating it to the same suckling before moving to lick and suck at the tender skin of Blair's perineum.

Jim felt his own arousal becoming painful, reaching its limits quickly on the smell, taste and sound of Blair.

"After tonight, no one else but me can touch you here," Jim whispered in a voice rough with desire and need. "You're all mine."

"No one...ever has...there...like this," Blair managed. Jim was not only the first lover to explore these secret places so thoroughly with his tongue, he would be the first male lover Blair had ever been with. 

"What about women?"

"You'll be the first...to be...inside me...with anything..." Blair responded honestly. He'd never been anally penetrated by anything before outside of a medical exam.

"Love you so much," Jim murmured against the soft skin near Blair's center. Then he ran his tongue in one long, wet lap over the little pucker, sending a shiver and spasm through Blair he feared might mean the other man's completion. 

Seeing that it wasn't, he settled into the project of making love to Blair's most private place...a place only he could explore this way. He licked gently around the little opening at first, then purposefully thrust his tongue into the tight darkness there. Blair screamed and stiffened out, arching almost off the bed, his legs falling onto Jim's shoulders.

"Jim...you...inside me...please..."

"Need lube, baby," Jim ground out, having pushed himself as near to the edge as he dared. And whatever he did, he couldn't rush this stage of things.

"Use...the spit..."

"Not enough," Jim responded gently, digging in the nightstand drawer for the KY he'd put there earlier. "Turn on your side and draw your knees up, sweetheart," Jim directed, opening the tube in his hand. Blair obeyed readily, and waited, panting for Jim to prepare him. 

Moving up to spoon himself along Blair's back, Jim brushed sweaty hair back long enough to rest his cheek against Blair's a moment.

"It's going to feel funny, baby. I'll only put in one finger at first."

"How...do you...know?"

"I, uh, did some reading." Jim couldn't believe Blair was choosing this moment to click into one of his inquisitive modes. 

"Where?"

"The 'net," Jim mumbled under his breath.

"What?" Blair turned his head until he could see Jim's face in the flickering candlelight. Thinking of Jim surfing the 'net to learn about anal sex was too incredible a concept for Blair not to fully explore.

"I found some...material there."

"Material?" Blair was smiling now.

"Stories," Jim finally replied. //Damned little inquisitor,// he thought with affectionate annoyance. //That's my Blair. Don't stop 'til you wring all the embarrassing details out of me.//

"Next time, we'll bring my laptop up here and find a really hot one and act it out, huh?"

"Oh, man..." Jim fastened his mouth onto the spot where Blair's neck met his shoulder, sucking the sweet flesh, then licking it lovingly. He uncapped the KY and after coating his finger, carefully probed the little opening his tongue had explored. Blair had been very wise to slow this down with a little talking, Jim realized as he began the task of readying what seemed like an impossibly small place.

"Mmmmm," came from Blair, who drew his knees up further and tried to impale himself on the finger. "Feels good," he murmured as Jim massaged the snug ring of muscle. Encouraged that Blair was enjoying this, he withdrew the first finger and returned with two.

"Still okay, baby?" Jim whispered, not having heard much of any sound from Blair. A quick inventory of the other man's vital signs didn't reflect any severe pain or adverse reaction, but he was strangely quiet.

"It's different...still...feels good."

"Do you know what it means to me to be doing this with you?" Jim whispered against Blair's hair. "To touch you there?"

"Only you," Blair responded in a breathy whisper, beginning to move in time with Jim's fingers. 

"This is going to stretch you, sweetheart. I'm going to try three. If it hurts, you promise to tell me."

"Promise," Blair replied, smiling. 

Jim carefully slid three lubricated fingers into the relaxed opening. Blair's heartbeat picked up and the muscles started tensing.

"Does it hurt, Chief?"

"No," came the strained reply. "Just...feels like I'm not big enough." Blair's head whipped around quickly to look at Jim. "You don't think...?"

"You're plenty big enough, sweetheart. It just feels tight." He kissed Blair's cheek and slowed the movement of the fingers. "No hurry, baby. Relax. Close your eyes and listen to the music," Jim referred to the instrumental piano music that wafted up from the living room stereo.

"Are you ready?" Blair asked, a little nervously.

"I'm okay," he lied, figuring the straining erection could just wait a while longer, despite the unpleasant sensation of impending death with the further denial of release. Fortunately, Blair wasn't the sentinel of the pair, so he accepted what Jim said at face value. 

After spending a considerable time just giving Blair a very erotic internal massage, Jim ventured deeper in search of the magic little nub. When he found it, Blair shouted his name once loudly and his body arched wildly, writhing with the pleasure as Jim continued to stroke his lover's prostate. When he was convinced Blair was almost to the point of no return, he carefully withdrew his fingers and reached for the lube.

"Jim...wha--...?" Blair asked raggedly.

"Shhh. I'm coming right back, sweetheart. Think you're ready for something a little bigger?"

"Oh, God, yes, please, now!"

"Try not to move too much, baby. Let me slide in slowly. If it hurts, just say stop."

"But you can't...not now..."

"I can anytime."

Jim carefully pushed the head of his cock past Blair's initial resistance. The other man's breathing was labored and his heartbeat rapid, but he didn't express any pain. Jim didn't need verbal cues. He focused every sense on determining when and how far to push ahead. Before long, he felt Blair's rounded buttocks against his groin. They were fully joined. 

Blair was silent, breathing like a jackhammer, just lying there trying to let his body adjust to the bulk inside it. It felt good and excruciating at the same time. Jim's hand came around to pump at Blair's flagging erection, and the other hand strayed up to lightly brush, roll, and flick at Blair's nipples.

Feeling Blair's body relax more around him, and hearing the pleasured groans from the work of his hands, Jim began to move slowly inside his lover. Before long, Blair was moving with him, accepting and undulating along with a series of slow, gentle thrusts. When Jim found the right angle to hit Blair's prostate again, he thrust against that little secret spot over and over again until Blair was writhing and begging him to move faster and pump harder. 

Losing a little of his control, Jim's hungry body obeyed the commands, giving Blair's prostate the vigorous workout he asked for, their outcries mingling together as Blair climaxed, giving Jim a return massage with clenching internal muscles that brought him to an incredible peak and conclusion. On a scream of Blair's name, Jim filled his lover, finishing in a series of rapid, passioned thrusts.

Silence and thundering heartbeats were the only sounds in the loft for long minutes as both calmed down from the sexual frenzy, snuggled tightly together through the little after shocks of what had been a wrenching orgasm for both.

"Are you all right?" Jim whispered into the nearest ear.

"Oh my God," Blair murmured. "I...that was..." Blair's voice trailed off.

"That was love, sweetheart," Jim supplied, pulling Blair tightly against him with both arms, kissing his hair, his cheek, his hear, anything he could reach from behind. "I love you with all my heart and soul, Blair. For the rest of my life."

"I love you too, Jim. I never want to be with anybody but you. Ever again."

"I'm going to pull out. It might hurt a little, baby. Squeeze my hand if you want," Jim said, lacing their fingers. As he withdrew, he got a firm squeeze and little grunt. "Hurts, huh?" Jim asked gently.

"Yeah, but...oh, man, that was... I...it was love, and in my heart, it meant all these things that just don't...I don't have words...being joined like that... And the sex...I came so hard I almost blew up."

"Me too, baby," Jim responded with a little laugh. "I shouldn't have listened to you when you told me to do it harder."

"If you hadn't, I'd've been forced to strangle you."

"Guess you mean what you say during sex then, huh?" Jim responded, grinning into Blair's hair, stroking a sweaty flank.

"Before, during and after when it's with you." Blair shifted with a little wince, turning over to face Jim, sliding up so their lips met and clung, exchanging a prolonged kiss and lazy mingling of tongues. Jim pulled his lover fully into his arms, hands sliding reverently over the sweaty, naked flesh until one settled on Blair's buttock, stroking it.

"Think it's time for a nap, sweetheart?" Jim kissed Blair's damp forehead and pushed his hair back gently.

"Yeah. When we wake up, make love to me again?"

"We'll see how you feel when we wake up, baby. You might be a little too sore for that. You could always return the favor," Jim whispered hotly in Blair's ear.

"Let's go to sleep then so we can wake up fast, huh?" Blair asked, grinning devilishly.

* * *

Blair stirred and feeling a little cold, instinctively groped in his semi-conscious state for the large, warm body that had blanketed him all night. Encountering only cool sheets, he forced his eyes open and found, somewhat to his dismay, that it was already daylight. Bitterly disappointed at waking up alone, Blair pulled himself up into a sitting position and groaned a little. Jim had been so right about him being sore when he woke up that it wasn't even funny. Still, Blair had to smile as he thought back of the night before. The morning after discomfort was more than worthwhile, he concluded, crawling out of bed and locating his robe.

"Jim?" He started down the stairs, not seeing any sign of his lover in the apartment. Then he noticed the solitary figure out on the snowy balcony, standing deathly still as he stared out at the expanse of Cascade on Christmas morning. Steeling himself for the cold blast, Jim opened the patio door gingerly. "Jim? Man, you're gonna freeze to death out here." Blair scurried out to where Jim stood, feeling the merciless bite of the wind through his robe and socks. Jim was standing there in his robe, also, oblivious to the cold. "Jim, come on, love, it's me. Come back to my voice, Jim." Blair was shocked to have to talk Jim out of a zone out. It had been ages since anything remotely like this had happened. 

The younger man kept up his steady litany of soothing commands until Jim shivered a little, then looked at Blair as if he'd never seen him before.

"Come on, Jim, we've gotta get inside. It's freezing out here, buddy." Blair took one of Jim's clammy hands and pulled him along through the door, which he hastily closed behind them. "How long have you been out there?" Blair continued to lead Jim by the hand, heading up the stairs toward the bedroom. "Get in." He piled a double thickness of blankets and the spread over Jim.

"Where're you going?"

"Just down to make you some hot coffee. Stay under the covers. I'll be right back." Blair didn't wait for agreement or objection, hurrying down to the kitchen and starting the coffee. While he was waiting for it to brew, he picked up some of the discarded clothes from the night before, tossing them into the bathroom hamper. He smiled as he reflected that Jim's house rules had become second nature to him, even during the time Jim himself was absent from the loft.

When the coffee was ready, he filled a thermal pot and gathering two mugs, headed upstairs. Jim was still up to his neck in the blankets, shivering a little now.

"How long were you out there?" Blair climbed back into his side of the bed and poured a cup of the hot coffee. "Come on, scootch up so you can at least hold this. Drink it as soon as soon as it cools a little." Jim followed the instructions, still silent. Blair slid over so the back of Jim's head was resting on his shoulder, and he had his arm around the larger man's shoulders. "Did you zone out, love?"

"I was thinking about Mandy," Jim responded simply, finally taking a cautious sip of the coffee, seeming to relax as the warmth spread through him. "I didn't want to do that today. I honest to God didn't want to wake up and...and have that be the first thing on my mind...the murders."

"But it was?" Blair asked softly, kissing the top of Jim's head.

"Well, the very first was that there had to be a hole in the sky because somebody dropped a sleeping angel in my bed," Jim countered, rolling a couple of tired blue eyes up at Blair, who blushed the color of the red mug Jim was holding. The other man smiled a little at that and then continued. "I wanted to lie here with you and kiss you awake...and somehow, there was just this...horrible, sad, sick feeling inside...so I got up and somehow ended up out on the balcony to do my thinking."

"It hasn't been very long, lover. It would be kind of odd if you were over it and able to put it behind you this fast. Is there anything you want to talk about? About Mandy? Or whatever you were thinking?"

"This is never going to go away, is it Chief?"

"The pain?" Blair rested his cheek against the top of Jim's head. "I don't think so, no. But it's like any other terrible wound. It hurts worst when it's just first healing. You know, when you get hurt really badly, how the shock kind of shields you from the worst of the pain? Then, when you come out of that, it hurts like hell. At least, that's how it felt when I got shot. What I'm trying to say is, I still have a scar on my thigh from that, and when the weather's really terrible, sometimes I still feel some pain around the injury site. Nothing debilitating, but it's still there." Blair paused to sip at his own coffee, then continued. "I think you're in that awful stage where the shock's gone, and you're healing. The wound still needs a bandage, and you still aren't 100% yet. Eventually, I think it heals, then leaves a scar and some residual pain. But I think the part that makes you hurt so bad that you can't hardly stand to take your next breath is going to get better. Way better."

"I'm not healing too well, sweetheart. It's not getting better," Jim stated quietly with a little tremor in his voice.

"It's Christmas Day, love. We knew this would be hard." Blair stroked Jim's hair lightly, then planted a kiss on his temple. "You want to talk to someone...a grief counselor, maybe?"

"No. I want to feel better."

"I know, baby. I know." Blair took Jim's cup as the other man turned and buried his face against Blair's robe, letting out the first of many wracking sobs that shattered the silence of the loft.

"I'm sorry," he moaned into Blair's shoulder.

"No, don't be, love. It's okay. Let it all out. I'm right here. I know it hurts." Blair continued to stroke Jim's hair, whispering little reassurances in his ear, all the while cursing his weak left arm that couldn't hold Jim as tightly as he wanted to. He willed more strength into it, and hugged Jim as tightly as he could. He searched his mind for anything he could say or do to ease Jim's pain, and all that came to mind was a little creative visualization. "I want you to focus on an image, love. I want you to picture a beautiful field of flowers on a warm summer day. There are birds singing, butterflies fluttering around the blooms, a flawless blue sky. In the middle of it is this beautiful little girl...your Mandy. In this perfect place she's in, all she has to worry about is chasing butterflies, picking flowers and being happy. There's no pain, no fear, no darkness. She is so happy there, I can hear her laughter..." Jim's tears were quiet now as they flowed into Blair's robe. "Do you want to know what I believe, Jim? I believe that when she's ready, her soul will fly free like one of those butterflies, and enter the body of another beautiful little baby somewhere, and she'll have another chance at a long and wonderful life, to make up for the way her past life ended. I don't think Mandy's dead. I think she's on another plane, in another form." Blair rubbed Jim's back soothingly, and fell silent, just letting his lover cry out the last of his tears.

"I could see it, what you were describing," Jim managed, regaining a little of his voice.

"You told me before that you believed in God. Do you believe in something after death?"

"Yes."

"Then the crying we do when someone dies...it's for us. Not for them. Mandy isn't suffering, Jim. And she's not in a cold dark place, and she's not buried under snow and earth in the Stanton family plot either. She's somewhere beautiful, or maybe she's already entering into a new life. Who knows how all that works? The point is, we all have souls, spirits. These bodies are just like houses. Mandy moved out of the one you knew and loved, but she still exists. I know that's not the same as holding her or having her here, but please don't cry because she lost her life. She just lost this one. There'll be others. And if there aren't, then her beautiful little soul is somewhere wonderful."

"God, Blair, I need you so much." Jim's arms fastened tightly around his lover. "How do you make sense out of everything like that?"

"I'm just telling you what I believe, love. You can make it through this. You're the strongest person I ever met."

"Funny...I always think that about you."

"Crying and hurting isn't a sign of weakness, man. It's just something natural. Part of the healing process."

"I'm sorry this was such a depressing way to wake up for you." Jim straightened up and pulled Blair in for a gentle, prolonged kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too." Blair stroked the strong jaw softly, and Jim caught and kissed his hand thoroughly. "And part of loving each other is getting through the rough spots together."

"Last night was the most...I've never felt anything that intense--emotionally, physically...everything."

"Intense...that's the right word. God, it was amazing. Like the whole world was going to explode..."

"How do you feel this morning?" Jim asked, his tone concerned.

"I'm sore. You were right about that part," Blair admitted, grinning a little. "But it's this kind of sore I don't mind. Every time I move and I feel it, I remember you inside me..." Blair shivered a little. "It was...electric."

"Come here. I want to hold you." 

Sliding down on their sides under the covers, the two men twined arms and legs together, getting as close as possible. 

"Warming up a little?" Blair asked.

"Lots." Jim cuddled him closer. "How's your arm? We didn't do any damage to that, did we?"

"Nope. It's fine."

"I had all these fantasies of loving you awake...spending the day together. It's just that when I woke up, something happened...I don't exactly know what. It was just all there again."

"Last night was kind of a fantasy trip for me. For those hours we spent together...dancing, feeding each other, making love...I just forgot everything but us. But, you know, it's all still there when you come to. I still jump out of my skin every time a car backfires, or I hear any loud, unexpected noise. Maybe I always will. And I still miss Mandy, and Lindsay--we had kind of made peace with each other in the last few months. I think we were getting to be friends."

"I got thinking about last Christmas. Lin was so excited about the baby coming, and this year, you know, was going to be so special." Jim was quiet a moment. "I missed you on Christmas Day last year. I mean, all of Lin's family was there, and she was there...but it was lonely in the middle of all those people. At least it was nice that you got a chance to go meet Naomi in Seattle for a couple days."

"Yeah, well, that didn't exactly come together."

"What do you mean?"

"She broke up with the guy that lived in Seattle about two weeks before Christmas. She was really bummed out about it, so she went on a retreat."

"But you said you--what did you do Christmas Day?"

"Finished an article I had been writing for a sociology journal."

"Why didn't you come over?" Jim pulled back to look at Blair.

"Because I didn't want to drive Lindsay nuts. I already had spent Christmas Eve with you guys. Her family was all there. I wanted her to be able to enjoy the holiday. It was your first Christmas together. Seemed like the right thing to do."

"So you spent it by yourself writing an article instead?"

"Well, I went downtown and volunteered at the homeless shelter. They sometimes have trouble getting people to serve the food on the holidays, and it's kind of a nice thing to do--makes you feel good to do something for people who don't have it so great. Plus it's kind of fun to get the kids rounded up to play games...Christmas can be real grim for them." Blair was smiling a little. "By about late afternoon, I headed home and worked on the article, and by the time that was done, it was late and I went to bed. It isn't as pathetic as it sounds, Jim. I was busy."

"Every Christmas, from now on, we spend together. No matter what."

"No argument here," Blair responded, happily burrowing into Jim's arms again. 

The two men spent most of the morning nuzzling, kissing and exchanging all the mushy little sentiments they felt for each other. Growling stomachs finally drove them down to the kitchen by late morning, where they prepared breakfast together and then spent the remainder of the morning feeding it to each other between bouts of kissing.

"Jim? I was wondering if you, um, want to go visit the graves today." Blair hated to ask the question as they cleared the breakfast dishes, but he also wanted Jim to know that he would be willing to do that if it would help.

"You wouldn't be depressed doing that on Christmas?"

"Hey, man, I just got everything I ever wanted for Christmas." Blair smiled as he took a hold of Jim's hand and laced their fingers together as they stood by the sink full of dirty breakfast dishes. "How could I possibly be depressed by anything today?"

"I don't deserve you." Jim leaned forward and kissed the other man's forehead.

"I don't deserve you either. I guess fate just sort of cut us a break then, huh?" Blair grinned up at his lover, and Jim laughed. Blair was delighted by that. It was a real accomplishment in light of how the morning had started.

* * *

Blair suggested stopping by the one grocery store in town that was open Christmas Day and picking up some flowers for the graves. The large supermarket had a surprisingly nice selection of fresh flowers arranged into little bouquets, as well as a refrigerated case with plastic tubs full of various colors of roses.

Together, they selected an armload of mixed bouquets, Jim having been enchanted by Blair's idea of recreating the visualized "field of flowers" on Mandy's grave. Jim paused by the case containing the roses.

"You going to get some of those for Lindsay?" Blair asked, holding the first batch of flowers.

"Would you mind?" Jim asked, wondering how Blair would feel if he bought roses for his dead wife the morning after the two men had made love for the first time.

"I'd mind if you didn't," Blair replied simply. 

Wondering where he had managed to find such a lover, Jim smiled with relief and reached into the container of yellow roses, gathering up a dozen.

"I thought Lindsay liked the red ones," Blair commented, leading the way toward the check out lanes.

"There's only one person I buy red roses for now." Jim planted a quick kiss on Blair's very surprised and unprepared mouth, then continued toward the check out lane nonchalantly, as if he'd just given Blair a high-five instead of kissed his lips in the middle of the grocery store. But then, Blair couldn't really remember Jim ever apologizing for his lifestyle choices or fretting over the opinion of others before.

With the flowers in their arms, they trudged across the snowy ground of the cemetery to the Stanton plot. Jim stopped halfway there, stunned by the number of flowers that were already in place.

"I guess Lin's family must have been out here earlier." He resumed his trek, with Blair close behind him. When the arrived at the graves, Jim knelt in the snow near his daughter's headstone and began looking through the flowers. "Oh, man," he murmured as he read the little cards that were attached to most of them. Each bore a message of sympathy and moral support from someone at the Cascade PD. The same was true of the proliferation of blooms on Lindsay's grave.

"Guess we've got some wonderful friends," Blair said, ignoring the unpleasantly cold sensation of kneeling in the snow as he joined Jim . He didn't mention that he'd talked to Simon a couple days earlier, and expressed concern about getting Jim through Christmas in light of the tragedy, and said he figured they'd probably end up visiting the graves. He would have to make sure Simon understood how much his obvious efforts in organizing support from the PD team had meant to Jim.

Blair quietly set to work on opening up the bouquets, beginning his project of blanketing Mandy's grave with the bright flowers. Jim moved to Lindsay's grave and laid the yellow roses among the other flowers and crouched quietly there for a considerable time. 

When he rose and returned to Blair's side, the younger man had most of the baby's grave covered with flowers. He had concentrated his efforts on the barren white ground, as the area near the headstone was already bedecked in flowers.

"It's beautiful," Jim said, taking in the expanse of flowers before them. "Almost like what you got me to picture this morning." Jim ran his hand along the cold surface of the stone, then over the small statue of a lamb that graced the top of the marker. "I just want to hold her one more time, you know?" Jim began, still staring at the stone. "All I can touch is a cold piece of granite. I want to feel how it felt to hold her and rock her and when she used to take a hold of my finger...or that toothless little smile..."

Blair said nothing, but slid an arm around Jim and rested his head against the larger man's shoulder.

"That morning...I went into the nursery and picked her up...she was crying," Jim said, almost smiling as he spoke. Mandy was almost always crying or at the very least restless. "While I was holding her, I just thought about how much I loved her...how beautiful she was. I didn't want time to move fast because I didn't want her to grow up too fast, but I couldn't wait to see what she'd look like when she got a little bigger, to hear her talk, to watch her turn into a _person_... God, Blair, it still hurts so damn much," he concluded in a strained voice.

"I know, love. I know it hurts." Blair ran his hand back and forth across Jim's back, but said nothing more.

As if he had suddenly gone through some type of transformation, Jim straightened and stood. Blair did the same, watching his lover with a little curiosity. Jim stared at the two graves for a long moment, then turned to Blair.

"Let's go home."

With a smile, Blair happily slid under the offered arm and draped his own around Jim's waist as they made their way down the snowy slope of ground to the truck.

* * *

"I know you're not here anymore, and I haven't been out here since Christmas," Jim began, laying the bouquet of pink carnations on his daughter's grave, sitting Indian-style on the grass beside it. It was a sunny July morning, promising to be a glorious day. "This would have been your first birthday. Sometimes I can't believe you've been gone that long. It's kind of fitting, I guess, that Carlisle's sentencing is today. The only reason it went to trial is that he was contesting one murder charge, which was kind of silly since he'll get several consecutive life sentences, no doubt about that," Jim stated, shaking his head. "He sang like a canary to avoid the death penalty. Now we know where all the DiMarco bodies are buried...literally. 'Course it doesn't really matter that he isn't going to be executed. The family'll take him out anyway." Jim sighed and stared out at the expanse of green dotted with a proliferation of granite markers. 

"Listen to me," he said, smiling. "As if you'd even know what I was talking about. I used to talk to you like this all the time, though. Right from the first time I went into the nursery when you were crying. I guess it helped me think, and the sound of my voice seemed to calm you down. So I guess we were helping each other somehow."

"Blair's actually starting to lift some small weights with his left arm now. Man, that bullet really damaged some muscle tissue in there. Took him a long time to build his strength back up. You know, he loved you so much, Mandy. It's taken a long time for him not to feel guilty that he survived instead of you. You are probably the only two people in the world I couldn't have chosen between." 

"That doesn't mean I didn't love your mom, because I did. I still miss her sometimes. I think about something she said, or about how beautiful she looked just sitting there in the nursery in the morning, rocking you. My two favorite girls..." Jim smiled a little sadly. "I was in love with Blair from day one practically, and fighting it all the way. I tried not to want him, to be faithful to your mother. I _was_ faithful to her--at least in my actions. But in my dreams and my fantasies, I was anything but, and that's something I just have to live with."

"We haven't really told anyone in so many words about our relationship. After all that's happened in the last year, I'm not ready to face it all. I need things to go smoothly, at least for a while. Work is great right now. I got back into Major Crimes, but in a new position. Being a lieutenant, I'm like second-in-command to Simon. So I have some administrative duties, but Blair and I are still out in the field about 50% of the time. It's a healthy balance. See, I'm just enjoying my life so much right now...you know, loving Blair, my job going the way I want it... I'm not ready to have to deal with the ostracism and harassment that's going to come when I take the plunge and make an announcement."

"Blair says I'm secretly hoping we'll get caught, because I often kiss him or take his hand when we're out in public. I think losing you and your mom taught me that much--if you want to do something, do it. Say it. Don't let it pass because when you decide to go back it could be too late. I wanted to spend more time with you that last morning, when I was getting ready for work. I was a little angry at Lindsay because she was getting dressed and asked me to go to you instead of her doing it. I was running late. But as soon as I held you, I wanted to be there forever. Instead, I handed you off to her and with barely a kiss goodbye, I was out the door. Looking back now, that meeting with Narcotics wasn't nearly as important as that last moment with the two of you. So in that way, yeah, I won't _not_ kiss Blair or hold his hand or take him out on 'dates' just to stay in the closet. But Cascade's a pretty fair-sized city, and we haven't happened to kiss in front of anyone we know yet. We ran into Ryf and his girlfriend a couple times at a Chinese place we all like, but the most he saw was me touching Blair's hand. If we'd had a really intense conversation before we were lovers, I would have done that much if Blair was upset or needed me to."

"So what do you think, huh?" Jim laughed a little. "I used to do that when I was rocking you, and I'd tell you some big long, boring story about a case I didn't know how to handle. Then I'd ask for your opinion. The weird thing is, I used to stare into those big blue eyes of yours, and somehow, I could figure out an answer. So maybe you gave me one. Blair thinks you might have inherited my abilities, you know. He said he thought you were abnormally perceptive, and that it could have come from you having heightened senses. And maybe that's more why you were crying all the time--because everything bothered you and kept you from resting. No wonder you used to quiet right down when Blair held you and sang to you or talked to you. He's been peeling me off the ceiling for years now."

"I know, I should be above board about this relationship. But I just don't feel the need to shout it from the rooftops. My life is my own business. I'm not going to hide Blair or not touch him or go out on fake dates or whatever. I've just never been big on telling people my personal business unless I have to. I'm a private person. Blair and I already live and work together, not to mention the fact we eat every possible meal together, vacation together and spend all our free time together. That's been going on for years now, with the exception of while I was married. No one pays much attention to it anymore. All announcing it would do is confirm for everyone that we were having sex. Somehow, that seems like nobody's business but ours." 

Jim drew his knees up, resting his elbows on them. It was starting to heat up under the intense brightness of the sun. Today would be a hot one.

"We're happy right now, and even though I know there's a part of Blair that wants us to be officially 'out', he knows I've had enough to handle lately, so he doesn't push it. Someday I'll be ready, and I'll just surprise him. Maybe plant a big wet one on him at the precinct Christmas party. I don't know. He deserves to be acknowledged. God knows I'm proud he's with me. Blair's so damned gifted and talented...I know he's had scores of offers from other universities. But he stays here at Rainier, much to their delight, publishing his little heart out, acting like the academic Pied Piper with his students. They love him. I don't blame them. Who wouldn't?"

"I know you're not here. Everything inside of me tells me this is silly. That I could have this conversation with you in the truck or in the loft or while I'm grocery shopping, and you'd be just as likely to hear it. But I wouldn't say it. Sometimes I think the point of the cemetery is to give people a place where they don't feel--or look--insane for sitting and talking into thin air. You know how much I think about you. It still hurts like hell to see people with little kids--babies. I don't know if I ever want to adopt. Maybe I will want that someday. But it doesn't give _you_ back to me. That's something that's lost forever...or at least lost in this life. Blair has a real firm belief in life after death of some sort. He seems torn between reincarnation and all that Eastern religion doctrine of karma and the more traditional heaven and hell concept. I don't know what I think. Maybe studying complicated it more for him. For me, I think there's something, but I don't know what it is. I just hope it lets me find you again when my time comes...and I pray that it's good for you. That you're happy...that you're really playing in that big field of flowers. Blair and his imagery," Jim shook his head, smiling. "He saved my sanity with that image." He stood up and looked back at the headstone. Amanda Blair Ellison.

"Four short months. So many people loved you so much in that short time, peanut." Jim felt a lump in his throat using the little love name he'd given Mandy right after she was born. He hadn't said it since her death. "Blair was right that this gets a little easier to live with, but it never goes away. I'd still give my life in a heartbeat just to hold you one more time." Jim swallowed hard and looked back at the truck, where Blair was perched on the hood, feet dangling. Just seeing that beloved figure there waiting gave him a little shot of strength. He looked back one last time at the headstone. 

"I love you, Mandy." Then, pausing by Lindsay's grave, he crouched a moment and ran his fingers over her name carved in the cool granite. 

"I love you too, Lin. I'm so sorry it wasn't more, and that things weren't perfect, because you deserved perfect. But thank you for giving me all you had to give, and for Mandy. Sleep well, honey." He stood and began a brisk walk back toward the truck.

"You okay?" Blair asked, sliding off the hood.

"Fine, sweetheart." Jim stopped to give him a swift, tight hug as he walked around the front of the truck. He started up the engine once they were both inside and drove toward the front gate. "I want to stop by the station and check our messages before we go to court. And Joel told me to stop in and see him this morning if I had time."

"Jim?" Blair hated to broach the subject he was about to bring up, feeling the timing couldn't be more inappropriate. Still, he had to get it out in the open, and know what Jim's reaction would be.

"Yeah?"

"Joel said he knows this really nice woman. She's a defense attorney." Blair waited nervously, knowing with a sick feeling in his stomach that this woman is what Joel would be telling Jim about when they got to the station.

"And?" Jim prodded, joining the early morning traffic on the road that would take them to headquarters.

"He wanted to set up a dinner or something so he could introduce you." Blair didn't look at Jim, but out the window at the passing cars as he spoke. "He thinks she'd be good for you."

"I can't believe Joel is so damned clueless," Jim responded honestly. He really believed that some of their closer friends would have figured out the score by that point, even if they didn't have proof.

"So, um, when he asks you about her...what're you--"

"Don't worry about it, baby." Jim scooped up Blair's hand and squeezed it.

"But he said--"

"We're going to invite Simon, Joel, Ryf, and Brown over for some pizza and beer and a little honest conversation this weekend." Jim smiled, and gave a quick kiss to the back of Blair's hand. "I'm not ready for any big public announcements yet, but our friends have to know that what we have is something that's exclusive...and forever."

"Kind of sounds like marriage," Blair said, smiling a little.

"Yeah, I guess it kind of does, doesn't it?" Jim smiled as he turned his attention back to the road that lay before them, still holding Blair's hand. 

The End


End file.
